


Joy in the Darkness

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: Finding Joy (Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2.0) [6]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Finding Joy, Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019, Undercover, a lot of messy pining, sorry have you forgotten I do the angst, week six, wives in hiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20629973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: The intrigue grows as Hecate and Ada play a dangerous game to save the school. Side by side, they're indestructible, but now they're forced to pretend as if they're nothing more than colleagues, without even the premise of friendship between them.Hackle Summer Trope Challenge 2019. Week Six: Undercover.Story 6/6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Get yo ass back to the beginning of this series and read it in order, if you haven't already.

As with any good conspiracy, multiple people were needed to carry it out properly—though the fewer people involved, the better.

Ada gave the Council the names they asked for—the names of the three girls from nonmagical families, each of whom was the thirteenth descendant of a witch who’d given up her power and the power of twelve to come to save the witching world. The Great Wizard thanked her for the information, and later, thanked Hecate Hardbroom for convincing the blonde to be so forthcoming.

Hecate had merely nodded. Inwardly, she seethed.

Together, she and Ada had gone over her future self’s cryptic message on how to handle the situation, and had done their best to weigh every pro and every con, to consider every option. In the end, they kept circling back to the only other person that Ada had seen in her trip the future (a detail she couldn’t reveal to Hecate): Mildred Hubble.

It was, in a way, rather fitting. Mildred Hubble was good at play-acting, as evidenced by her turns in the school’s talent shows and one disastrously memorable Yuletide play. She was older now, fourteen years old and much more versed in their world and its awful prejudices than the three new young girls who would be joining the academy for their very first term. And she had rather impressive track record, when it came to saving the school.

When Hecate Hardbroom sold her plan to the Great Wizard, she pointed out that Mildred was more of a threat than an eleven-year-old first year could be, while still being young enough to be easily contained, in the end. And wouldn’t it prove a better point? To have a girl who’d been brought back in for years, suddenly go bad—why, the witching world would be in shock. Every girl who came from the nonmagical world would be regarded as a ticking time bomb. It would be no question of _if_ they went bad, but _when_.

_Do you really think you can turn her?_ The Great Wizard had been skeptical, but there was a tinge of awe in his words. Hecate had chosen an audacious goal, and he admired that.

Hecate had merely smirked, arching a brow. _As surely as the sun rises in the east, I can convince Mildred Hubble to do anything I say._

That had been a lie, as Hecate Hardbroom had over three years’ worth of evidence suggesting otherwise. But she’d known that this time, it was true.

Hecate had appeared at the Hubbles’ flat just the day before, to talk with Mildred and Julie. Indigo had insisted on staying in the room, and Hecate found that she didn’t have the heart to fight her. After all, the intrigue concerned her just as much as it did anyone—more so, in a way.

That made five people: the Hubbles, Indigo, Ada, and Hecate.

Then came the staff. Gwen had been an immediate yes vote from both wives, seeing as she’d kept more of their secrets than anyone—also her façade as oblivious old bat was rather convincing, and no one would ever look her way if things began to look suspicious.

Ada feigned a heart attack when Hecate’s next suggestion was Dimity Drill.

_Miss Hardbroom, have you fallen and hit your head?_ Ada had kept her eyes wide, voice lilting in mock shock as she'd clutched her chest. Her reward had been a smirk and a roll of her wife’s eyes (and maybe a little something more, later that evening).

With Gwen came Algernon, who was quickly brought up to speed.

After some rather careful deliberation, one final person was brought into the fold: Miss Gimlett, botany mistress. Though as far as she knew, Ada and Hecate were still just dearly devoted friends.

_We need someone…outside the circle_, Ada had pointed out. _And we need somewhere safe, outside the castle itself. _

Hecate had understood—as botany mistress, Gimlett held control over the collection of greenhouses and outdoor gardens on the eastern side of the academy’s grounds. Ada and Hecate already knew that they would have to be particularly careful in how and when they met, once Romula Rinewater was back at the academy to observe the first few weeks of classes.

_It’ll be like old times_, Hecate had offered, with a small smile that was supposed to be brave but really only looked sad_._ Ada had loved her wife for attempting to cast their temporary separation as something romantic.

It would be hell, Ada knew. Hecate would be back in her old quarters, which for years now had been mainly just for show, aside from acting as her personal office and library. Ada couldn’t remember the last time Hecate had even slept in that bed—it had been years since there had been a fight big enough to make Hecate spend the night in another room. And since then, they’d instituted a rule: no matter how big the disagreement, they would not go to bed angry with each other (and yes, there had been one night that they were still awake to greet the sun, still trying to unravel the tangled mess of emotion and past experiences), and they’d learned how to find a place to rest in some form of accord, a way to pause until the morning that still eased the anxious awful feeling of being in a fight, a way to lie side by side in a sense of peace. The idea of not waking in the night to the reassuring sound of Hecate’s soft little snores or the way she’d groan and roll over in her sleep, making a feline chirpy sound as she snuggled back into Ada, was enough to send a knife through Ada’s lungs.

Though the impending separation had its perks. Namely the fact that they’d gone back to the frenetic urgency of the early days, two flurry-handed little rabbits ducking into corners and pressing against desks and bookshelves and stone walls, muffled moans and small, aching little sighs that only increased the urgency, mouths swallowing each other’s sounds, hands hot and quick up skirts. There was a clock counting down over their heads, and they’d already wasted so many lonely years before, they’d be damned if they lost a second more. Mornings waking warm and hungry, as if the night hadn’t been spent to the fullest, boneless bodies and sweat-sheened skin.

Ada was certain that their first week apart would mostly be spent catching up on sleep, since they weren’t doing much of it now. Not that she was complaining. She didn’t feel tired at all, surprisingly. And even if she did, her wife had a pretty effective Wide Awake potion that ensured they were still able to make it through the day.

But it wasn’t the potion that made Hecate’s eyes so bright and burning, her gaze so obscene that sometimes Ada felt it shouldn’t be in the light of day like that. Most of the time, when they were around other people, Hecate’s focus stayed studiously latched on to other things—the ceilings and arches and furniture found themselves under more intense scrutiny than they’d seen in decades, and surely even the dinnerware found themselves blushing under such direct attention. This did nothing to quell the constant low burning in Ada’s hips, knowing exactly what her wife was trying to tamp down, what her gaze couldn’t hide if she looked at Ada, what would happen the moment they were alone and those eyes could lock onto her again.

They were currently seated in their usual positions at Ada’s desk, going over the final preparations for each classroom after a rather invigorating afternoon tea in which neither food nor drink was actually consumed. Ada was certain that, despite countless showering and drying spells, her inner thighs would be forever stained a rather familiar shade of pink—the exact same shade currently perfectly outlined on her wife’s lips. The woman had to reapply it so many times throughout the day for the past two weeks, Ada had joked that she would run out of lipstick before term began. Somehow, Hecate seemed to take that as some sort of personal challenge.

Hecate must have sensed that Ada’s thoughts had strayed, because without ever stopping a beat in her recitation of the checklist, her hand came up to tap a perfectly manicured talon on the wooden desk. _Pay attention, Ada dearest_.

Almost perfectly in-time with the final beats of Hecate’s fingernail, another knock came on the headmistress’ door. Ada waved the door open and smiled at the sight of Gwen Bat.

“I hope this isn’t too presumptuous,” Gwen moved into the room. Hecate assumed that, given the fact that it was Miss Bat, whatever came next probably _was_ presumptuous. The older witch continued, “But we decided that the kitchen staff should take the night off. One last little treat before the students return.”

Ada frowned slightly, confused by the logic—the kitchen staff generally took off most of the summer holidays, coming in a week before the term began. Their workload was significantly lighter, with about a hundred less mouths to feed at every meal.

“So it looks as if everyone will be…free to have dinner wherever they choose, on the last night before term,” Gwen spoke slowly and clearly, taking a moment to stare at each woman for a full beat.

“Ah,” Hecate was, surprisingly, the first to respond. “I see.”

Gwen gave one last warm smile, “Like I said, I hope it’s not too—”

“No, it’s a rather lovely idea,” Ada assured her with a smile of her own. Her chest burbled with a wave of grateful happiness. Of course, Gwen knew about their marriage—she’d been the one to say the rites, that soft and secret day they’d bound their hands in symbolism of their hearts, which had been inextricably entwined long before. And of course, Gwen had some idea of what the next few weeks would entail, with Miss Rinewater staying in the castle. She knew and she understood and she was giving them what little she could, and Ada adored her for it.

“Quite lovely,” Hecate agreed, ducking her head slightly. “Thank you, Miss Bat.”

Gwen smiled again and left. Ada closed the door before returning her attention to her wife, who was watching her with careful eyes.

Going out—_really_ going out—was still a new concept to Hecate. And while Ada would be absolutely happy with a small dinner atop the parapets (or better yet, a midnight feast in their own bed), she wouldn’t steal this chance from Hecate for her own selfish desires. So she gently began, “Well, there is this restaurant—”

“Ada,” Hecate’s voice was soft, but still forceful enough to stop the blonde in her tracks. The deputy headmistress simply lifted her brows, voice low and meaningful as she confessed, “I’d much rather not leave the castle at all tonight.”

Ada was fairly certain that _castle_ was code for _bedroom_, given the timbre of her wife’s voice.

She smiled, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Hecate relaxed a bit in her seat, and Ada realized that Hecate had also been worried about imposing her own desires on Ada as well. The blonde couldn’t help but grin—hadn’t she made it plain at this point, just how delighted she’d been with every interaction over the past two weeks?

Perhaps she should be…clearer in her expression.

Ada glanced at the clock across the room. She knew that once they crossed the threshold of their chambers, absolutely no work would be done until the morrow. So she airily suggested, “Let’s finish our checklists and adjourn for an early supper.”

Hecate’s eyebrows were lifting higher now, the unspoken question evident in her expression.

“It isn’t as if we haven’t been over everything twice at this point,” Ada reminded her. “And with Miss Rinewater’s arrival tomorrow morning, we have more important things to discuss.”

Hecate merely nodded, shifting in her seat and returning to her checklist with renewed fervor.

* * *

“Stay,” Hecate’s voice was both strong and soft, a juxtaposition that Ada couldn’t possibly unravel, especially in her current state. “Stay, just like that.”

Ada felt fairly certain that she didn’t look particularly beautiful right now—as soon as they’d gotten to their rooms, Hecate had Ada on her back, legs dangling off the edge of the bed and skirt pushed up around her hips. She’d been still so sensitive from their previous activities during teatime that it had seemed a matter of seconds before her thighs were tightening around Hecate’s ears, arching and crying out as Hecate’s hands on her hips held her steady. That hadn't made Hecate alter her slow and steady pace in the slightest, enjoying her wife with a calm constant methodicalness that sent Ada into another spiral of heat and need, over and over again. Hecate took her time and exactly what she wanted from Ada before retreating with one last soft kiss on her inner thigh. Ada was a complete wreck, red-faced and breathing heavily, entire body limp against the bedspread.

But Hecate didn’t seem to notice those things at all. She was leaning forward, placing her hands on either side of Ada’s head to simply get a closer look. Her dark eyes were constantly moving—from Ada’s hair to her eyes to her neck, shifting slightly to take in the rest of her body. Hecate was still dressed, too, with the exception of her blouse. Her black silk slip made her sharp edges seem obscene and it took every ounce of Ada Cackle’s rapidly diminishing self control not to sit up and bite that collarbone.

Despite the desire in the absolute scrutiny, Hecate’s eyes were also filled with a sense of forlorn sadness.

_She’s trying to remember every detail_, Ada realized. _To keep with her, while we’re apart_.

The urge to pull her wife down into a hug, to wrap her up and shield her, was almost overwhelming. Only love could stop Ada from moving, keeping her still and quiet, letting Hecate take in every little nuance that she needed. She’d stay like this for hours, if it gave even the slightest bit of comfort to her lover, later on.

Hecate was shifting further back, her hands lightly tracing over Ada’s hips, fingertips lightly ghosting down her outer thighs and up again. Her face was a picture of absolute studiousness, the same expression she wore when brewing a potion or inspecting a plant’s health. Her hair was still in its bun, but barely—Ada’s hands had made a thorough mess of it, loose and wisping—and her lipstick was smudged (_again_, Ada thought pridefully). Her chest was still taking deep breaths to steady herself and her cheeks were just as flushed. She was gloriously a mess—Ada felt that must be what Hecate saw now, when she looked at Ada.

Hecate knelt, letting each hand rest on one of Ada’s calves, sliding down the curves to her ankles, where Hecate’s thumbs rubbed small little circles of devotion and adoration. She leaned in, lightly placing a kiss on the outside of Ada’s right knee, nuzzling the spot for just a moment more. Ada closed her eyes and let the room spin.

She felt the shift and opened her eyes to see Hecate standing again, one side of her deliciously mussed mouth curl into a knowing grin.

“Had your fill?” Ada asked, only half-teasingly. She still didn’t move, and that made Hecate’s heart flutter with adoration all over again—Ada may roll her eyes or tease or say whatever, but she always understood, and she always allowed Hecate to do what she needed.

“Not by half,” Hecate returned warmly, moving forward again. She planted her hands firmly beside Ada’s shoulders, feeling a trill of delight for the way Ada shifted in response, aching to be even closer. Hecate Hardbroom had never been a woman for half measures, but Ada’s capacity for love and desire seemed to outpace her in the best of ways. It was amusing to look back now, to think back to the early days of their courtship, when Hecate constantly feared being too much, wanting too much, pushing too far—only to learn that there was no such thing, when it came to Ada.

Her skirt was quite fitted, as usual—the fabric tightened and pulled at her hips and her knees as she shifted further forward, further into Ada. Despite the blonde’s eagerness, Hecate was gentle, knowing she was still sensitive. Her hips easily found a place between Ada’s warm thighs as she let her upper body lower even more, pressing them together. She buried her face in the crook of Ada’s neck, inhaling the scent of her hair and her perfume. Her lungs contracted painfully with longing. How was it possible to miss something before it was even gone? How was it possible to miss someone you would still see, for hours every day?

Ada felt her wife’s sudden sadness, as if it were a physical weight pressing into her. Now her hands moved, one slipping around Hecate’s waist and the other coming to trill along the back of Hecate’s neck, soft and reassuring. She turned her head slightly, placing an awkward half-kiss on the side of her wife’s head.

“I’m still here,” she reminded her. “We’re still here.”

Hecate merely hummed in agreement. She shifted, pushing herself up enough to look down into the face she adored. Ada was trying to be brave, hopeful eyes and warm smile, and as usual, Hecate couldn’t deny her anything, when she smiled like that.

“We are,” she agreed. She placed a quick peck on the tip of Ada’s nose. “I’m just…I’m not sure how I’ll sleep, without you beside me.”

Her tone had gotten warmer, more playful, and Ada felt a wash of relief in response. She moved slightly, pushing more of her body against Hecate’s as she feigned concern. “Oh, my, you’ll have to think of _something_. A good night’s sleep is absolutely crucial, you know.”

Hecate scoffed in amusement (she didn’t have to point out that they hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in nearly two weeks, despite the sense of rejuvenation that they’d felt).

Ada lightly spatted her wife’s hip in reprimand, “It’s true, Miss Hardbroom. And as your headmistress, I feel it’s my responsibility to ensure you have…everything you need.”

“Is it now?” Hecate was looking down at her with an absolutely adoring expression, but the corners of her mouth smirked like a knowing wolf.

“I take my responsibilities very seriously,” Ada played up the line with wide eyes and a breathy-ingenue lilt. She was rewarded with a silent chuckle from her wife. Ada let her hands slip further down, enjoying the heaviness of Hecate’s hips bound by the tight fabric before pulling her further in. The action brought Hecate’s upper body closer, too—perfectly placed for Ada to lean up and nip along the line of her collarbone.

Hecate’s shoulders were screaming at the stress, but goddess above, she’d become stone if it meant that Ada kept her mouth exactly there. Ada was pulling her further down, bringing Hecate’s neck straight to her teeth and tongue, and Hecate nearly melted atop her completely. Ada’s hips rolled against her and the blonde gave a small delighted hitching sound against Hecate’s pulse point—Hecate heard her own gasp in response and felt the familiar feeling of being overwhelmed by Ada, the fizzy-headed effect of champagne but with heightened sensations instead of dulled.

Her fingers dug into the bedcovers as she shifted slightly, pushing her left hip further into Ada, whose thighs tightened around her in response. Ada was pulling her down again, into a kiss, humming happily against Hecate’s mouth. Hecate could cry at how warm and wonderful it was, at just how deeply she wanted to stay like this, for as long as possible.

But Ada Cackle was never one for sitting still. Just like the water that gave her magic strength, she was forever moving—her hands were slipping down Hecate’s sides, gripping her hips and pulling her in again. Hecate found herself laughing silently against her wife’s kiss, body burbling with love-soaked adoration all over again.

The blonde was smiling too, well aware of her wife’s amusement. She relished the way Hecate’s hips felt beneath her hands, the warmth of her body hovering over Ada’s, the easy electric familiarity of the way Hecate’s tongue slid past her teeth. Hecate’s skirt was one of her brocaded ones, the fabric deliciously rough against her center as Hecate pushed further into her—Ada thought of how she’d feel, the next time Hecate wore that skirt, the next time she saw it and remembered this moment and all its sensations.

It still hurt her heart, a little, knowing that the next time she saw Hecate in this skirt, they’d be locked into their little game of pretending not to be lovers or wives or anything beyond cordial colleagues. Knowing she would have to watch Hecate simply be, and have no way to act upon the feelings such a sight inspired.

She tried to remember the early days of their romantic relationship. When they’d finally both realized that the feelings had been mutual, when they’d finally seen each other and understood. The days when their eventual destination had been agreed upon, but they were still…moving towards it.

_Courting_, Hecate had later called it, in her endearingly old-fashioned way. _Delicious torture_ would have been Ada’s choice of descriptor. But she’d also relished the moments, knowing soon they’d move into a different phase, knowing soon it would be worth the wait, in every way.

And it had been. Oh, had it been.

While Ada Cackle could embrace the concept again, now was not the time—Hecate must have realized the fabric of her skirt was adding to the sensation, because she was pressing into Ada’s center, slowly swiveling her hip to create more movement, more friction, as she watched Ada with nearly clinical curiosity. _Nearly_ clinical, because while most researchers might be fascinated by their research or highly attentive in witnessing reactions, Ada was fairly certain their eyes wouldn’t be shining quite like _that_, nor would their skin be so tantalizingly flushed.

“I need to see more of you,” Ada whispered, hands moving up to clutch at the satin of Hecate’s slip, currently covering her torso. Quickly, she added, “But keep the skirt.”

Her wife gave a knowing hum. In a flash, the skirt was the only thing left on Hecate Hardbroom’s body. Ada’s seal of approval was placed atop Hecate’s breast, teeth coming out to nip the warm flesh. Her hands were tracing up and down Hecate’s spine, fingertips light and teasing.

Ada wasn’t the only one having fun with fabric. Hecate leaned in for a kiss, her newly-exposed skin singing at the softness of Ada’s summer dress against it, the little points of coldness created by the buttons a welcome juxtaposition. Ada’s hands were slipping into Hecate’s hair again, loosening the already dilapidated bun even more, as her tongue slipped into Hecate’s mouth. Hecate’s thighs were trembling, envious of her mouth’s current position as the center of Ada’s attention. The whine slipping up her throat was uncontrollable—her skirt was suddenly too tight, too heavy, too hot, too much between her and Ada.

As always, Ada understood. She pushed herself up to sit, steadying Hecate’s hip and keeping her as close as possible in this new change of position. With gentle lips, she started at the space between Hecate’s breasts, leaving a tender trail down her torso as her hands unzipped the back of Hecate’s skirt and slowly pushing it down, exposing more skin to be kissed and savored.

Hecate’s fingers were thoroughly tangled in Ada’s hair, stroking and pulling and encouraging her to continue. Once the skirt was over the curve of her hips, it easily fell to the ground, the weight of the fabric taking over. Despite the fact that Ada’s hand had already followed a familiar path up Hecate’s thighs just a few hours prior (up against the door of her office, no less), Ada hadn’t actually _seen_ the underwear she was wearing—a dusky light purple with baby pink roses embroidered along the edges, dancing over the netting and complimenting the skin beneath. Part of a rather memorable ensemble that debuted at Ada’s last birthday (the _very_ private part of the festivities, of course). A bittersweet note fluttered in Ada’s heart at the realization that Hecate was treating this last day of normalcy with such tender attention. It was one last little love letter, one final little detail that she’d carried with her throughout the day, a fond memory she’d been waiting to share with Ada. There was a competing whirlpool of emotions as Ada felt the prick of tears at her wife’s tenderness, and her hips felt the prick of desire at the memories Hecate had sought to bring back.

She shifted slightly, nipping at the softer flesh just above Hecate’s hip bones and smirking at the sounds her attentions elicited. She could already catch the scent of Hecate, already knew how wet and wanting she’d find her, once she finally moved further down.

Instead, she let her hands roam around the edges of Hecate’s hips, to the curve of her ass, fingertips relishing the parts that weren’t covered by netting and lace. Hecate huffed at the obvious detour, and Ada tamped down a grin. Really, was it her fault that she teased her wife, when the woman made it so enjoyable?

“In a rush, Miss Hardbroom?” She asked quietly, between little kisses from Hecate's hipbone to the bottom of her ribcage. She could feel the woman’s silent groan as her mouth moved further away from where Hecate wanted it most.

“Most people do not seek to prolong their torture,” came the droll reply, delivered as somberly as the most beleaguered of martyrs could ever sound. Ada glanced up to see her wife’s eyes closed, face titled slightly towards the heavens. A soft smile still placed across those lovely lips. Hecate was teasing, but the tension in her shoulders was definitely real, as was the tightness of her nipples and the deep flush across her chest.

Before Hecate could even fully register what was happening, Ada’s grip was tightening around her torso, pulling her onto the bed and turning so that they fell onto the mattress side-by-side. Hecate’s skirt was still around her ankles, hindering her legs and making her even more unstable. She squeaked in surprise, clutching Ada more tightly for some kind of anchor, arms scrambling as her long—and currently tethered—legs twitched uselessly. Ada was beaming, giggling triumphantly, and Hecate, as always, was helpless against the joy of it. She grinned, humming in amusement as she pulled Ada in for a kiss.

“Fast paced enough for you?” Ada asked, once their lips parted. Her wife merely smirked in response.

Hecate vanished her twisted skirt and heels before hooking her leg over Ada’s hip, shifting even closer and nuzzling her nose against Ada’s. She let her fingertips trill down the curve of Ada’s jaw, tilting the blonde’s chin so that she could kiss her deeply. By now, she was fully aware that when it came to certain battles, she was no match for Ada—the blonde could string her along for hours, if she put her mind to it. The fastest recourse was simply to get Ada to a state as desperate as she was. And _that_ was a task she was perfectly suited for.

Now Ada Cackle was entirely aware of her wife’s current strategy, though she had no true issue with having her weaknesses used against her—not when the results were so delicious. Hecate Hardbroom had the wonderful ability to engage her entire body in a kiss, and while Ada was the one still fully clothed, she felt completely exposed, laid bare to the attentions of her wife's touches. She let her hand rest on the curve of Hecate’s waist, feeling the way it shifted as Hecate rolled into the kiss, tongue completely claiming Ada’s own with such forceful determination that her head spun and her pulse skyrocketed.

Ada’s hand left its position on Hecate’s waist and her skin whined immediately at the loss of heat—but then she realized where it was going and she nearly cried in relief. Her leg tightened its grip around Ada’s hip as the heel of Ada’s hand pressed between her thighs, the simple pressure enough to make Hecate shudder. Ada kept her movements slow and deep, matching the pace of Hecate’s kisses. The little half-breaths and sounds the kept escaping Hecate’s lungs nearly drove her mad, but she never sped up, never stopped.

“Ada,” Hecate whined, arching further into her. Apparently she sounded pitiful enough to elicit a merciful response, because Ada’s hand shifted, fingers pulling aside the strip of lace and pushing inside Hecate with ease. Ada let out a low, breathless sound at just how wet her wife was, filling Hecate’s chest with another flash of heat and pride—even in a moment like this, she couldn’t help but feel giddy over the way she could make Ada react, at how awestuck Ada could be, even after all these years.

Hecate made a small sound to express her approval at the current situation, pressing further into Ada’s body and wrapping her arm around the blonde to pull her into another whirlwind of a kiss. She let her fingers lose themselves in Ada’s hair again, which by now was thoroughly tangled, pulling just enough to earn a reaction from the blonde. Ada’s thumb found her clit and her entire body jolted at the contact, pushing back into the feeling as Ada’s fingers curled to hit at just the right angle inside. It was a slightly awkward position, with their legs dangling halfway off the bed, but Ada still felt electric inside her, still pinned her with those blue eyes that were always like a surgeon’s blade, right to Hecate’s heart. She couldn’t leverage enough of her body to truly create any kind of rhythm, so she simply held on to Ada and let her wife set the pace.

It didn’t take long for Hecate to come, muffling her own cry with Ada’s mouth and clutching her body for dear life. They stayed tangled up for several minutes, simply shifting and enjoying the quiet closeness. Hecate titled her chin downward slightly, slowly and gently unbuttoning Ada’s dress.

Ada’s throat closed completely as she thought of how long it would be before they had an evening like this again. Before they had anything even remotely close to this. She leaned forward, placing a firm, long kiss on her wife’s forehead—it was the best she could do in the moment, when words were far too painful, when her throat was far too constricted to even attempt saying them.

Still, Hecate understood. She shifted, looking up at Ada again, giving a small shake of her head as if to dispel the sad thoughts. Then she rose and began to fully undress her wife in earnest. And just like with her kisses, she somehow incorporated her whole body into the simple act—by the time she was finished, Ada couldn’t think of anything beyond the pounding need of her body and the mind-dizzying touch of her lover.

* * *

They hadn’t bothered with lighting candles—daylight had still been streaming through the window when they’d first entered the room, and the slowly encroaching darkness only heightened the drama of their play, until finally, it was all pale outlines in the light of the waning moon, more shadow than sight. They didn’t need the light, not really. Their hands knew the way, their mouths found all their favorite perches like birds returning to their nests, their bodies pulled together as easily as magnets, after so many years and so many couplings.

Eventually, they did have to at least attempt sleep, though they kept their arms and legs tangled up more than usual, hands lightly stroking over skin and the occasional little shift to place a kiss on a shoulder or a forehead.

Finally, Hecate cleared her throat, gave name to the specter hovering over them. She quoted the words uttered by her future self, their only guide in knowing how to handle the fraught waters they were currently navigating, “Let the Council come, and trust no one. No one is who they seem, not even yourself, not even those most familiar to you. It’s all a play, all the world’s a stage. Be safe, Ada Cackle. I love you.”

The last bit was barely audible, cracked by emotion and tenderness. Ada snuggled closer into her wife’s body, squeezing her in a half-hug. Hecate kept her gaze focused on the ceiling, and Ada knew it was the only way she could continue speaking, the only way she could keep from devolving into tears.

“We have to—the safest assumption is that every form of interaction could be…secretly monitored,” Hecate said quietly. They’d already had this conversation before, had already mapped out their contingency plan, but Ada knew this was just Hecate’s way of reassuring herself, like all her little checklists when Ada traveled in time.

“Right. I’ll keep it narrowed down to tasteful nudes, then,” Ada quipped, desperate to relieve some of the tension she felt coiling in her wife’s body.

Hecate gave a single, hard laugh of surprise. She lightly spatted Ada’s shoulder in silent reprimand. She returned to her original train of thought, slightly less somber than before, “We have the codewords. And the spells. And the time-tables.”

“We do,” Ada assured her. She let her fingertip draw whorls over Hecate’s abdomen, watching the way her touch created waves of goosebumps in her wake.

“And we have each other.”

“Most absolutely.”

Hecate gave a contented hum. She tightened her hold on Ada and shifted to place another kiss atop her blonde head. “Now stop teasing me and go to sleep.”

Despite their exhaustion, they stayed awake for quite some time, simply holding each other as their minds quietly turned over the upcoming weeks and all they might bring. At some point, Hecate’s thoughts must have become too dark to handle, because she rolled onto her side, turning further into Ada and wrapping as much of her body as she could around the blonde. They finally fell asleep like that, two souls anchoring each other through an unseen storm.


	2. Chapter 2

“Attend carefully, Mildred Hubble,” Hecate drawled, not bothering to glance over. She knew Mildred was watching with rapt attention, even before Hecate’s command. Still Hecate had felt the need to say something, and Mildred seemed pleased that Miss Hardbroom was engaging with her.

Not that it was necessary. They were the only two in the potions lab at the moment—ostensibly under the guise of Mildred Hubble receiving afternoon detention, yet again. Since the Great Wizard was under the impression that Hecate was using these moments to twist and turn Mildred into some kind of weapon, Hecate was fairly certain that her time with Mildred was free from scrutiny. So she wisely was using the time to better train Mildred in the role she would play, ensuring the younger witch was able to properly cast the spells necessary to make it all seem real.

It was the last day of the first week of term. Miss Rinewater had been irritatingly cheerful and full of questions about the day-to-day running of the academy, as if she hadn’t been a student here herself, years ago. Ada had made only one off-color joke, but done in such a way that it didn’t seem directly aimed at her wife, so there was no suspicion aroused (though _other_ things certainly were, Hecate Hardbroom could vouch).

Miss Rinewater had also quite effectively sewn herself to Ada’s side, which meant that aside from a few coded check-ins, the headmistress and her deputy had not had a single conversation about their current situation.

Hecate pushed down her near-constant sense of fear and frustration to concentrate on the spell she was casting, reciting the words aloud—at her age and ability level, she could easily just _think_ the spell and bend the world to her will, but Mildred needed to know the words.

She focused her gaze on the plant in front of her, which trembled and shook under the magic of her spell. With a pull of her long fingers, she called the spell back and the plant stopped moving, relatively unharmed.

“Now,” Hecate stepped back, the click of her heel punctuating the word. “Your turn.”

Mildred gave a quick, tiny nod as she stepped forward. Hecate noted that Mildred was holding her hands exactly as Hecate had, and she tamped down a smile. A little mimic, indeed.

In a low, solemn voice, Mildred recited the incantation, her entire body tense as she waited for the plant to respond.

A beat passed. Nothing happened. Hecate felt the ripple of Mildred’s magic, tinged with frustration. Then the young witch set her face into a determined expression and tried again.

This time, success. Mildred got so excited that she gave a little whoop of joy.

“_Focus_, Mildred,” Hecate reminded her. Somehow, she didn’t sound as stern as she’d intended.

Mildred quickly fell back into line, focusing intently on the plant, which shook even more violently. Then, again imitating Hecate’s gesture, Mildred recalled the spell. Her big brown eyes immediately latched onto Hecate’s face, a mixture of eagerness and trepidation filling her expression as she waited for the verdict.

“Passable, for now,” Hecate conceded. Mildred’s face lit up like the sun.

_She’s still so young_, Hecate’s heart shrieked in pain. Not for the first time, she thought back to what she must have looked like at that age, what the adults around her must have thought when they placed a sentence upon her that would dictate most of her life.

“You are dismissed for the day,” Hecate stepped further back, tried to climb back into the stiff and stuffy Miss Hardbroom shell, to put distance between who she was and who she used to be. With a dramatic flourish, she motioned to the door.

Mildred was playing with her braids—a sure sign that she wanted to say something else. Hecate waited, assuming a longsuffering air and arching a single brow as a way of silently prompting the girl to speak.

“I—I had to tell Maud and Enid,” she admitted quickly. While Hecate was not particularly pleased by this revelation, she wasn’t entirely surprised, either. The young witch continued on, desperate to explain herself, “I couldn’t not—they have to help, too. They’re going to start being mean to me. That way it will be more believable, when…when it happens.”

Hecate had to admit, that was rather sound thinking on Mildred’s part. She merely nodded in agreement. She and Ada had agreed that Hecate couldn’t deliver too easily or too soon on her promise to the Great Wizard, or else it would look too obviously staged. She’d discussed this with Mildred as well. There had been a general timetable constructed, to help set the pace. Hecate Hardbroom was generally a rather patient person (at least she thought so), but it was agony, trying to wait, to make sure it all seemed natural, to sell this story and play this part.

Mentally, she tallied up the numbers. All in all, eleven people were involved in this conspiracy. She would have been more comfortable with less people, but she could also acknowledge that no precise number would give her any true ease over the situation.

“And you are…” Hecate fumbled, not sure how to ask such a simple question. “Able to keep up with your studies?”

_And you are alright? You’re so young and fragile, this isn’t too much for you?_ That was what she’d wanted to ask. There wasn’t a single moment of this charade in which she wasn’t keenly aware of how much she was asking of such a young girl, how much responsibility she was placing on a child who should still be busy being a child.

Again, Mildred blessed her with that trademark Hubble beam. “Absolutely, Miss Hardbroom. Easy peasy.”

HB looked like she could use a hug, but Mildred wasn’t sure she could tempt fate by giving her one. Instead she offered a different kind of comfort, “I suppose you’ll have to tell Miss Cackle about today’s incident.”

“I will,” HB stood a bit straighter, giving a curt nod. “And if you’re lucky, she will be lenient.”

With one last dark look and an arch of her brows, HB transferred away. Mildred smiled, satisfied at her efforts. She glanced back at the plant on the table. With a wave of her hands, she magically floated it to the window at the back of the classroom, where it could soak up the afternoon sun. She knew HB would notice, when she came back. She’d notice, and she’d know that it was Mildred, taking good care of her beloved lab. There was a surge of delighted hope in her chest. After all the years of HB’s insistence that Mildred was a millstone around the academy’s neck, here they were, working together to save it (again).

Mildred had felt a hot flash of hatred, when HB had first approached her. The idea that the Great Wizard would be so cruel, making HB relive one of the most traumatic points of her life, just to make some stupid point that wasn’t even true—it made Mildred want to cry in anger. She’d known then and there that she’d do whatever it took to help HB stop this, to keep other girls safe from such awful schemes.

She knew her mum was still worried, and HB had given Mildred more than the usual allotted amount of passes to make mirror calls home—she never said anything about it, but Mildred knew it was HB’s way of attempting to alleviate some of that worry. In the days before the term began, sometimes HB and Mum would talk via mirror, late at night when they thought Mildred and Indigo were asleep.

Millie and Indie would eavesdrop (Indigo often cried afterwards—it still wasn’t always easy, reconciling her childhood friend Joy with the serious and often anxiety-riddled HB), listening to two women delicately mend fences and strategize how best to keep Mildred and the other girls safe.

That was the part that had affected Mildred the most deeply—when Mildred wasn’t supposed to be listening, HB was shockingly emotional, when it came to the idea of putting Mildred in any kind of danger. She _cared_.

Mildred smiled at the plant again. HB cared. And now she could see that Mildred did, too. They might not ever say it out loud, but maybe they didn’t need to.

With one last look around, Mildred made sure everything else was pristinely in-place. Then, with a curt nod of self-approval, she hurried out the door.

* * *

“Oh my, what’s Mildred Hubble done this time?” Ada’s tone was good-natured, her eyes twinkling merrily at her deputy’s vexed state.

Especially since it was all a farce. Ada had to admit, aside from the near-constant aching feeling of not having her wife as a wife, it was rather fun, all the play-acting.

Hecate paced the length in front of the desk, rattling off a list of supposed infractions. Despite the fact that it was all a farce, Hecate Hardbroom was rather good at getting herself worked up into a cloud of anger. Her hand gestures were quick, direct, forceful—reminding Ada a little too much of entirely different scenarios in which her wife’s hands were equally emphatic. She ducked her head and tried to push those thoughts away (but perhaps she didn’t try _too_ hard, perhaps she didn’t really try _at all_).

“I’m sorry, Miss Cackle, am I _boring_ you?” The sharpness of Hecate’s tone made Ada snap to attention. However, when Ada looked up, she saw the smirk dancing at the corner of her wife’s eyes. _Busted_.

“I was just thinking that perhaps we could all do with a little time to simply…breathe,” Ada admitted, as honestly as she possibly could. “With Miss Rinewater’s arrival, tension has been a bit high.”

The single, slow-burning arch of her deputy’s brow was agreement enough. Ada felt a measure of comfort in knowing her wife had felt the week-long separation as deeply as she had.

“Perhaps a nice, long walk is in order,” Ada suggested brightly, rising to her feet. The week had been so busy, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d walked through the garden—her wife’s preference for transferring everywhere meant that Hecate most certainly hadn’t been strolling the grounds recently, either.

“Should we let Miss Rinewater know our whereabouts?” Hecate drawled easily. Ada understood the actual question: _Where is Miss Rinewater, right now?_

“She just went down to the village, to visit the bookshop,” Ada informed her. “So I doubt she much cares where we are. I don’t expect her back until dinner time.”

Hecate merely ducked her head in understanding, shifting to follow Ada as she moved past. Except she didn’t step back as far as she should have, keeping her body close enough to brush against Ada’s, hand slipping lightly around the curve of Ada’s hip as she walked by.

Ada felt herself blushing like a school girl, a bit regretful that the small moment of contact was already over. However Hecate was close behind her, motioning the door open with a light flick of her wrist in her usual gallant way.

The day was still quite warm, late afternoon in late summer, but Ada enjoyed the warmth. For days now, she’d felt devoid in some way, waking up alone in bed, slipping back into it at night exactly the same. Missing even the little moments between them at tea times and meals and chance encounters in the hallway—they were meticulous in keeping their cover as mere colleagues, but sometimes Ada wished her wife wasn’t quite so adept at pretending not to care.

She tried to mask her little sigh of sadness as one of happiness, as if she was truly enjoying the day and this moment, so devoid of all the things it would normally have. She had to be strong. Hecate was aching, too, she knew—that brief caress in her office only moments ago had held so much desperation and longing that Ada had nearly cried. She wouldn't make it worse by complaining. Instead, she forced a cheery note into her tone as she asked, "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

“Lovely,” Hecate returned quietly, as if she wasn't even paying attention. Then she stopped, cleared her throat gently, and ducked her head, pushing her voice even lower, so no one could overhear. “Ada, if I don’t—I can do this, I can play this charade as long as need be, but if I don’t have five minutes to simply be your wife—to just be ourselves, alone, together—very, very soon, I may go mad.”

Ada shouldn’t feel so giddy over the confession—after all, she empathized with the sentiment quite deeply—but she couldn’t stop the smile seeping across her lips, or the flash of heated delight that came at the raw edge of Hecate’s tone, the shaking delivery of her words that betrayed just how tightly she was holding back.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” she shifted just a half-step closer, noting the way Hecate’s hand immediately reached for her, then snapped back down. She wanted to be held in those hands just as much as they wanted to hold her. Then, raising her voice for the benefit of anyone who might be nearby, she affected an airy tone, “My, the goldenrod is quite lovely already—a bit of an early bloom, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps, but not by much,” Hecate’s tone was disinterested, but her eyes were filled with questions.

“When do the girls transplant the fall seedlings to the outdoor gardens?” Ada asked.

Hecate’s brows shot up in sudden understanding. “Next week. Though I do need to check and make sure they’re actually ready for transplanting.”

An absolute lie, as that was Miss Gimlett’s domain as botany mistress. Still, it was a rather decent excuse to slip off to the greenhouse, which had been specifically knit with spells to keep them safe from prying eyes and ears.

The door to the greenhouse had barely closed before Ada was pulling Hecate in for a kiss, nearly sending them both toppling into one of the long wooden tables used for potting stations. However, Hecate recovered remarkably quickly, steadying them both on their feet without ever interrupting the kiss.

“Thank you,” Hecate whispered, closing her eyes and tilting her forehead against Ada’s, when they finally broke for air.

Ada hummed. Her first instinct was to tease her wife’s gratitude, but she opted for focusing on the future instead, “Surely that’s not _all_ you needed.”

It wasn’t even a question, not even for a second. Hecate was laughing softly at her wife’s boldness—oh, Ada, how she’d missed her daring, darling lover, even though they’d spent hours together every day throughout the week. Without the innuendos and smiles and the inside knowing jokes, it had been as barren as a long absence. It was a particularly stark difference after the nearly two weeks of constant foreplay and seduction that they’d enjoyed before Miss Rinewater’s return. Hecate was fairly certain that the very thing they’d told themselves would make the separation more bearable was, in fact, making it less.

Not that she regretted it (_never, never would, never could_).

Reaching out with her left hand and blindly finding the edge of the table she’d stumbled into moments ago, Hecate kept her right hand firmly clasped onto the lapel of Ada’s sweater, pulling the blonde along with her. Ada’s cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes were dancing—Hecate was smiling so hard that her face was hurting at the sight.

_Oh, I’ve missed you_, she thought to herself, further settling onto the edge of the table and guiding Ada closer. She dipped her head slightly, focusing on unbuttoning the front of Ada’s dress as she dryly intoned, “Is there any possibility Miss Rinewater might be tempted to take other excursions away from the castle?”

Ada hummed in amusement. Then, with a helpful smile, she admitted, “I believe Dimity’s taking her to some pub event next weekend.”

“I was hoping for something a little more…quotidian.”

“My, my, using big words—Miss Hardbroom must be quite serious.”

“Hush,” Hecate further silenced the blonde with her own mouth. With enough buttons undone, she slipped her hands inside Ada’s dress, lightly tugging at the silk slip underneath as she murmured against Ada’s lips, “I need this gone, Miss Cackle.”

It was vanished before the request was even fully completed. Ada couldn’t help but smile at her wife’s little burble of delight, the warm weight of her palms pressing into Ada’s breasts.

“The bra, too?” Ada suggested helpfully.

“It has its uses, for the moment,” Hecate informed her, punctuating her point by leaning in to nuzzle her way between Ada’s breasts and give a slight nip of the warm, soft flesh. Her current seated position put her at a prime height. She used her hands to push more out of the top of the cups, biting and covering each bite with a warm press of lips and tongue. Ada leaned in, pressing into the weight of her wife’s kisses.

“Hecate,” Ada closed her eyes, hating what she had to say next. “We don’t—there isn’t much time.”

The younger witch stopped, sitting back slowly to fix her wife with a look of absolute innocence and confusion. “I’m sorry, was there something you were hoping for, in particular? Something you’ve been _missing_?”

Ada had to laugh at her wife’s wide-eyed act, all batted lashes and lilting tone. Her entire body was tightening with frustration and desperation. Being this close to Hecate again was like touching a livewire, hot and electric and almost uncomfortable. Even in the phases in their relationship when sex wasn’t happening as often, their bodies were still together, still sharing beds and showers and hugs—and after a week of being denied even the simplest of touches, it was all too much and not enough, all at once.

Thankfully her wife was a compassionate woman, because her hands were back on Ada’s hips, sliding down with such unmistakable intent that Ada’s throat clenched shut and her eyes involuntarily fluttered closed.

“Tell me, Ada,” Hecate’s voice was low and warm as her hands stopped at Ada’s thighs, fingers twittering as they pulled the rest of Ada’s skirt further up with an ease borne of repeated experience. “What were you thinking about, every night when you went to bed without me?”

Her fingertips finally touched Ada’s bare skin and the blonde shivered in delight. But those expressive hands weren’t moving an inch. Ada understood the unspoken command: _Speak, and be rewarded._

“Your hands,” she finally breathed out a reply. Damn her lungs for working against her and refusing to take in proper air.

The hands in question were slipping further up Ada’s hips again, but Hecate made a slight noise of dismay. “Just my hands?”

“And your mouth—”

“Where?”

Ada hadn’t opened her eyes again, but she could feel the soft gust of Hecate’s breath across her chest and knew that her wife had guessed the location with relative accuracy.

“Show me where, Ada,” Hecate prompted again. Ada could feel the heat of her mouth, hovering just over Ada’s skin, the ghost of a touch.

Ada obeyed, finally opening her eyes to look down at her wife as she gently pushed back the open top of her dress, fingers easily finding her nipples. They were already tight and aching—the look in Hecate’s eyes as she watched Ada’s fingers only increased the building tension.

“Here,” Ada tweaked her nipple through the fabric. She hadn’t worn her lace bra today, but the material was still thin enough for Hecate to see the outline—still thin enough to absolutely feel the heat and wetness of Hecate’s mouth, if the woman ever put it there.

Hecate’s eyes were the color of coal, dark and burning as she looked back up at Ada’s face, her voice hoarse and aching as she asked, “And where did you imagine my hands?”

The game had slightly shifted, as Hecate was no longer waiting for a prompt. Her hands were sliding inward, fingertips dancing over the sensitive skin of Ada’s upper thighs. Her left hand moved up, splayed against Ada’s hipbone as her right slipped between Ada’s legs, fingers trilling against her underwear, which were already soaked through. Hecate’s throat gave an audible click, eyelids fluttering at the contact. She looked like Ada felt—ready to shatter at a single touch.

“Is this what you thought about?” Hecate asked, leaning in again. The sheer heat from her fingertips, so close to exactly where Ada needed them, was almost unbearable.

“Yes,” the blonde could barely push the word out. “I thought about this—about you—I thought how much I missed you. How much I wanted you, right there with me—”

She was nearly crying now, half from physical frustration and desire, half from the toll of truly missing her wife and their usual intimacy, both physically and emotionally.

“I’m here now,” Hecate assured her. She shifted, tilting her head as she whispered one last time, “I’m here, Ada.”

Her mouth easily pushed aside Ada’s fingers, covering her nipple with a jolting sensation of wet heat and sharp teeth as her fingers slipped past Ada’s underwear and sank inside her core, curling in delight at the way Ada clenched around them.

She wrapped her left arm more firmly around Ada’s waist, using her ankles to push Ada’s stance wider—Ada stumbled forward slightly, catching herself on Hecate’s shoulders and lowering her head as she tried to stifle a moan at the feeling of her wife pushing deeper inside. Hecate shifted as well, letting her mouth come up to Ada’s collarbone.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured against Ada’s skin, placing a little kiss as a punctuation point. There was so much adoration in that single, simple, tiniest of kisses that Ada thought she might melt into a puddle of tears then and there. Hecate’s thumb lightly brushed against Ada’s clit—Ada could feel Hecate’s smile against her skin at Ada’s juddering reaction. Hecate traced the line of her Ada’s neck with her mouth before hotly whispering, “Just let go.”

Hecate had been careful not to push Ada too far over the edge before—but now that caution was completely abandoned as her fingers curled in and her movements became deeper, more forceful. Ada was making delicious little noises, pushing further into Hecate’s touch, pressing open-mouth kisses in Hecate’s hair as her fingertips dug into Hecate’s shoulders like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline. Hecate found the spot just at the edge of Ada’s jaw, tracing the edge with her tongue before sucking sharply, feeling a wave of desire and satisfaction at the way Ada gasped and shuddered in response. There was another rush of wet heat against Hecate’s fingers and she felt a familiar rush of pride at the sounds her hand made, sliding in and out of Ada. Her own thighs were tensing as she thought of the nights Ada had been just like this, wet and wanting and desperate for Hecate’s touch, as she relished the sights and scents and sounds that had been denied to her for five whole days.

Five whole days. There was a time—long, long ago now—that she would have scoffed at anyone who couldn’t bear five days away from their significant other. It seemed ridiculous, codependent, unhealthy. But as always, love proved the folly of her previous position.

Granted, she could be away from Ada that long. They’d been apart longer, before. But to be greeted with the sight of her, every day, and be denied the ability to engage in the full range of their relationship, even in the smallest of things—_that_ was unbearable. And it wasn’t just in regards to physical intimacy. She missed Ada’s laughter or the way she sometimes sang little silly songs to their cats, usually made up on the spot and featuring various renditions of odes to their little toe beans. She missed arguing with her over the finer points of cultivation or reading aloud a particularly interesting article in _The Witching Times_, just to hear Ada’s opinion on the matter. She missed the little smiles they got to share, over tea or when a student said something particularly endearing or amusing. She missed her lover, and she missed her friend.

She tried to channel that sense of longing into her touch, into the way she tested Ada’s skin against her teeth, humming in approval for all the little sounds Ada made in response. Ada came with a sharp, feminine cry and Hecate had to admit, it sounded quite nice, reverberating against the greenhouse panes. She kept her fingers inside her wife for a few beats more, slowly drawing out the last of Ada’s orgasm with easy movements as she kissed her way back down Ada’s neck. The blonde was practically collapsed into her lap—as soon as she removed her hand from between Ada’s thighs, Hecate pulled her closer, taking more of Ada’s weight against her. She turned her head to the side and cleaned her fingers with her tongue, more than satisfied with her results.

Ada was nuzzling against Hecate’s neck, placing light kisses on what little skin was exposed. She was still breathing heavily, still quite thoroughly a mess, which made Hecate happy—she took absolute pride in her ability to completely devolve Ada Cackle. Her hands found their way to Ada’s hips, giving them an affectionate squeeze.

“You know,” Ada shifted back slightly, her knees finally able to work again. “That wasn’t all I thought about, all alone in my room.”

“Really.” Hecate couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. Her wife’s imaginative skills had been proven quite thoroughly over the years. “Do tell.”

“Well—that’s just the thing,” Ada ducked her head slightly, lips already curling into a smile. Her hands were mimicking Hecate’s, lightly rubbing the sides of her wife’s hips. “It’s not something I can really narrate.”

And although Hecate Hardbroom had fully understood her meaning, Ada still leaned in to lightly confess, “My mouth would be a bit too busy…demonstrating.”

“Oh?” Hecate played along, feigning innocence. “Well, I do pride myself on being a rather quick study. I’m sure if you’re very thorough in your demonstration, I’ll catch on to the point you’re trying to make, without any need for narration.”

Ada leaned in for a languid kiss. She gave a preview of her upcoming demonstration against Hecate’s tongue. She felt her wife laughing in response, the happy sound pushing into her own lungs as well and filling her veins with a golden, bubbly feeling.

“Incorrigible,” Hecate decreed. Her lips were practically performing a gymnastics routine in her attempts not to smile.

“Not quite the feedback I was hoping for, but we’ll see how you feel after the demonstration,” Ada kept her tone light and chipper. Then, repeating her wife’s request from earlier, she slid her hands down Hecate’s thighs, fingertips lightly scratching over the tight fabric of her skirt, “I need this gone, Miss Hardbroom.”

With a theatrical snap of her fingers, Hecate vanished her skirt. She shifted, leaning further back to give her legs more room to part before leaning forward again, letting her lips nearly touch Ada’s as she purred, “Now, what was the other thing you thought about, all alone in your room?”

Hecate had been absolutely correct. Her wife’s nonverbal communication skills were quite effective, leaving no doubt in Hecate’s mind as to exactly what she’d wanted to explain, without any words at all. Her point was so thoroughly made that Hecate herself was quite speechless as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief mention of how witches communicate with familiars in part 4 of this series, The Joy in Waiting. If you need a refresher on that, now's a good time to do it, as it's gonna be referenced several times from here on out.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who has left kudos/comments/reblogged on tumblr.

By now, Ada Cackle was thoroughly aware of her wife’s meticulous nature. But somehow, she suspected their final appearance checks before leaving the greenhouse were born of an entirely different thing.

Of course, they could have used magic—and did, a little. But for the most part, Hecate insisted on letting her own hands do the work of buttoning up Ada’s dress and rearranging her light summer sweater back into its original state, fingertips smoothing over the lines of Ada’s hair and making sure it was all back in place. While Ada loved the adoration in her wife’s touch, she hated the finality of it all. The feeling of slowly sinking back into the place of loneliness, of missing, of hopeless longing.

It was a temporary state, Ada knew. That didn’t make it any less painful.

Likewise, she helped Hecate step back into her skirt, adjusting her blouse just-so and making sure her bun was in its usual immaculate state.

“Perfect,” she decreed finally. Hecate blushed and Ada felt like they were back in the in-between time, back when she was first realizing that Hecate wanted the same thing from her, wanted more than the wonderful friendship already between them, wanted _her_.

“You know,” Ada began delicately, not sure why she needed to express this but still needing to, all the same. “I thought—I suppose it was rather foolish of me, but I thought it would be easier, this time around. After all the years of pining, one would think a few days apart would be a stroll in the park.”

Hecate’s relieved smile informed Ada that she’d felt the same. With a slight shrug, the deputy headmistress pointed out, “Perhaps it’s harder, because we do know what we’re missing, now. Before, having those thoughts and feelings and not being able to act upon it…that was just part of our daily lives. And now….”

“And now when you have those thoughts and feelings, you can just pin me up against the nearest wall,” Ada supplied helpfully. Though given the furrow of her wife’s brow, it was received as less-than-helpful.

Hecate simply pressed Ada into the greenhouse door with a quick, hard kiss. “Ada Cackle, it’s already going to be torture enough—”

“See? You’ve just proven my point.”

“You are going to be the end of me,” Hecate sighed. She still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t let Ada shift even the slightest underneath her. She nuzzled her nose against Ada’s, the longing in that small action enough to make the blonde’s throat clench shut. With a hoarse whisper, she confessed, “I’m not ready to go back.”

All of Ada’s teasing melted away. She wrapped her arms around her wife’s torso, giving her a squeeze of affectionate understanding as she whispered, “I know, love. And I’m not, either. But we have to.”

Hecate gave a small quick nod, the defeat in her expression making Ada want to cry. She shifted back, slowly slipping into her armor as Miss Hardbroom as she extended her arm towards the world outside, “After you, Miss Cackle.”

Ada blinked back tears and moved to the side of the door. She had to clench her jaw to keep from crying as the door slowly opened, Hecate’s magic taking care of her as usual.

They stepped outside, both instantly aware of how much cooler the greenhouse had been with its spells to keep the autumn seedlings in appropriate conditions. They walked along in silence, neither really sure how to start a conversation with these stilted, flat versions of themselves.

Hecate stopped suddenly, looking around in mild concern and confusion. Ada stopped as well—after a beat, she located the source of Hecate’s abrupt halt. The sound of a cat, mewling.

Hecate made a light clicking sound, and soon Morgana was delicately picking her way over the grass, tail fluttering like a war banner.

“What is it, my darling?” Hecate knelt, opening her arms to the cat, who was soon rubbing against her shins and headbutting her knees. She scooped Morgana up and turned her attention back to Ada, who was equally concerned. Morgana, like her owner, was not one for long distance walking. Being this far out of the castle was a rarity.

“Perhaps the first years are being more raucous than usual,” Ada suggested. There were few things that drove the familiars out of the castle, but loud noise was certainly one of them.

“Perhaps,” Hecate conceded. She dipped her head slightly, placing a loud kiss atop Morgana’s head. Ada knew that she was currently trying to communicate with her familiar, to make sure everything was alright. It was a bit adorable really—even though Hecate knew how the connection worked, she still always subconsciously tilted her head slightly closer to Morgana’s whenever she was communicating telepathically with her, as if the decreased distance helped. Hecate’s fingers were ruffling through Morgana’s fur, lightly stroking and pulling. Ada tried not to be jealous of a cat, but she couldn’t help missing those fingers in _her_ hair, gently distracting her from the events of a long day.

Morgana began wiggling, so Hecate gingerly released her. The cat put a few feet of distance between them but still followed along.

“Everything alright?” Ada asked.

“I think so,” Hecate’s tone implied the opposite. Ada reached out, lightly patting her wife’s back in reassurance. This constant stress of having the Council looming over them, all while trying to hold an intrigue, did nothing to help Hecate’s anxiety, or her paranoia. It was one of the many things Ada admired about the woman—her ability to continue functioning, while wading through the myriad of doubts and fears and general physical tolls of carrying so much stress and adrenaline.

Hecate offered her a smaller, truer smile as they made their way back into the academy.

_We still have each other_, Ada reminded herself, hoping the thoughts shone through in her own smile. _Not in all the ways that we want, but in the ways we need the most, we still have each other._

* * *

The next morning, Hecate was hard at work at her desk in her private chambers, having awakened far too early, only to be greeted with the realization that she didn’t have a playmate snuggled up beside her to pass the time. It was most disappointing.

She set to work on another round of lesson plans—while she was always punctual about her teaching deadlines, she’d found herself having far too much free time in the evenings and had already graded every essay and assignment that she’d given out for the week. She’d tried simply reading a book, but the odd uneasy energy sliding through her veins made it impossible.

She didn’t like this feeling. This sensation of something _wrong_, without knowing what that something was. The distinct pull of needing a fix a problem without any indication what the problem might be. She chewed the inside of her cheek furiously as her mind whirred and clicked through a dozen different scenarios, trying to find the missing puzzle piece that would make her body’s uneasiness make sense.

There was a light knock on her door. She rose to her feet and moved towards it, setting her shoulders back so that whenever she did open the door, she was perfectly in-character as deputy headmistress.

It was Romula Rinewater, smiling brightly. “Good morning, Hecate.”

“_Miss_ Rinewater,” Hecate added even more emphasis than usual on the title, the _s_ dragging between her teeth into an irritated buzz.

“The Great Wizard wants you to start contacting him on his private line,” Romula offered a card to her. Obviously she’d understood the warning tone in Hecate’s greeting and knew to get directly to the point of her arrival. “To avoid suspicion.”

Hecate gingerly took the card, frowning slightly. Still, she said, “Thank you, Miss Rinewater. Is that all?”

“Yes, I think. See you at breakfast.”

How Hecate wished that wasn’t a promise.

* * *

At breakfast, Romula seemed a bit more invested in Hecate’s movements than usual. Even Dimity noticed, leaning in to lowly intone, “Looks like you’ve got an admirer, HB.”

Dimity’s reward was a rather withering glare from her colleague. Dimity glanced back to the opposite end of the table, where Romula was still watching the exchange with unabashed curiosity. She spared the staring witch a quick wink, which shocked Romula enough to realize how openly she’d been gawking. Romula returned her attention to her breakfast.

“Good morning, all,” Ada called out in her usual chipper tone, taking her seat beside Hecate. “I hope everyone slept well.”

“Like a champion,” Dimity returned easily, raising her orange juice in a light salute. Hecate could only assume she was toasting herself. Typical Drill.

“I could barely sleep a wink,” Ada admitted. “Must be the upcoming full moon.”

Hecate merely hummed, knowing full well what her wife was doing—referencing their conversation from yesterday afternoon, when Ada had confessed she was staying awake at night, thinking of Hecate. And, by extension, the other things happening while that particular conversation was taking place.

_Wicked woman_, Hecate lightly nudged Ada’s foot under the table. _Don’t be so cruel._

Ada ducked her head to hide her smile. Hecate’s entire body nearly shut down under the strain of trying not to smile as well. Really, Ada was too adorable, so triumphant in knowing that she’d effectively taunted her wife.

While teasing Hecate Hardbroom was a favorite pastime, Ada had other reasons for the little asides. She’d missed Hecate just as much, in all the same mundane little ways. Yes, they couldn’t share their usual smiles, or even have half of their usual camaraderie—but they could still have secrets, little moments carved out just for themselves. Anything to make it slightly more bearable, slightly less barren.

Hecate needed to tell Ada about the card. About…the feeling. There was something off about the Great Wizard’s request, something off about the card itself, though she couldn’t quite figure out why.

It was also an excellent excuse to get her wife back in that greenhouse, though logically, Hecate knew that there wouldn’t be time for a repeat performance of yesterday afternoon. Still, a girl could dream.

Except currently, she couldn’t even suggest a meeting in their pre-planned code. Because that damnable Romula Rinewater was still paying far too much attention to her, despite Romula’s attempts to appear otherwise distracted.

“Y’okay there, HB?” Dimity Drill’s voice gently broke into her thoughts. Apparently Romula wasn’t the only one paying attention.

“What? Hmm, yes,” Hecate tried to recover—a feat made all the more difficult by the happy little sound Ada made as she sampled the newest batch of raspberry jam. “Actually, I was thinking—my broom needs a bit of polish, if you have the time?”

Dimity very nearly retorted that HB could polish her own damn broom, thank you very much—but then she saw the odd, desperate sheen in the woman’s eyes and realized she was trying to convey a deeper message. So she slowly said, “Yeees, I do. How about right after breakfast?”

“Perfect,” HB gave a curt nod. She seemed rather pleased, so Dimity assumed that was the correct response.

Twenty minutes later, they were at the broom shed as Dimity rummaged through her broom maintenance supplies, mumbling to herself about the location of a particular tin of polish.

“I’m not sure why we actually have to—”

“Because, Drill, it’s the first rule of an intrigue: if you’re going to set up a cover story, follow through. It’s much easier to live in truth,” Hecate sniffed. “Given how closely she was watching, Romula most likely overheard us discussing the need to polish my broom. If she sees my broom and sees it hasn’t been polished recently, it will be a red flag.”

“Yes, well, if you weren’t so picky about your polish brand, this would be much easier.”

“I expect only the best, for myself and my broom. I’m surprised you don’t do the same.”

“Oh, I do, thank you very much. I just happen to know _the best_ is not Beatrice Bristle’s Super Seal n’ Shine—”

“In the name of the goddess and all that is good and holy,” HB growled, rolling her eyes and casting a summoning spell. The desired polish wriggled its way out of a precarious stack of tins, which were immediately steadied by Drill’s magic.

“Now,” Dimity turned back to her petulant companion, giving a slight huff of impatience. “What’s the real reason you’ve dragged me down here? Besides getting on my ever-loving nerves, which seems to be a favorite pastime of yours.”

HB set aside the polish and slipped a calling card from the breast pocket of her blouse, extending it towards Dimity with delicate fingers. “This.”

The younger witch gingerly took the card, inspecting it with a slight squint as she read the engraved typeset. “E.H.?”

“Egbert Hellibore,” Hecate supplied quietly. “It’s his _private_ line.”

Dimity’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Hecate frowned, giving a small shake of her head. “I mean—why worry about keeping our discussions on a private mirror line? He’s the Great Wizard, no one can oversee his communications.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Dimity turned it over again, fingertips running over the edges.

“I thought the same thing.” HB gave a light sigh. “But if I don’t use it, I’m afraid I’ll arouse his suspicions.”

“HB, you’re an absolute doll. But please, never use the word _arouse_ near me in conjunction with the Great Wizard, for any reason, _ever_ again.”

The woman looked like she might actually crack a smile at Dimity’s joke (although she was rather serious in the request, to be honest). Dimity handed her the card back, “You’re right, though. You don’t have a choice—you gotta play ball.”

“And what if—what if it’s a mistake?” Hecate held up the card, feeling the familiar creeping terror rising in her chest, slowly strangling her throat. This was the thing she wasn’t sure that she could bear: the crippling doubt. She needed to be brave, for Ada. Certain. Unwavering. That was the only way they survived—by being each other’s strength, each other’s faith, each other’s hope. Hecate Hardbroom firmly believed that half the reason they’d survived this long, after so many mishaps, was simply because they couldn’t bear to let the other down. The other half was just sheer dumb luck. She wouldn’t do anything to tempt either of those balances.

Dimity gave a sympathetic grimace as she quietly confessed, “Hecate, I don’t think it _can_ be a mistake, if it’s the only choice you’ve got.”

The deputy headmistress sighed in agreement. She slipped the card back into her breastpocket and grabbed the polish tin, taking a seat at the broom repair table with a rather dejected air.

Dimity took one of the brooms on the repair rack and sat across from HB, silently summoning two polishing rags. She handed one to HB, and they both set to work on their respective brooms.

After a beat, HB spoke up, “I thought this wasn’t the best broom polish.”

“It isn’t,” Dimity informed her.

“And yet you’re using it on your beloved broom. Interesting.”

“This isn’t _my_ broom, madame. It’s Miss Thistle’s, and I’m teaching her a lesson.”

“Which is?”

“That witches who don’t maintain their own brooms will be punished with subpar polish.”

HB huffed at that, though there was a tinge of amusement in her tone. They fell into an easy silence, both absorbed in their tasks.

“So,” Dimity finally spoke up, after a long pause. “How’s Ada taking all this?”

“You probably know just as well as I do,” Hecate confessed quietly. Her polishing became quicker and more forceful. “I’ve barely had more than fifteen minutes alone with her—truly alone—all week.”

Dimity hummed in understanding. “That’s gotta be rough.”

“Well, it’s certainly not ideal,” HB drawled. With a light sigh, she added, “I miss her most when she’s right beside me. It’s worse, I think. Not being able….”

She didn’t finish the thought aloud, but Dimity glanced up to see the rapid blinking as HB tried to rein in her emotions. Dimity could count on one hand the number of times she’d ever seen the woman so pitiful (and still have fingers to spare). The fact that she was confessing any of this to Dimity was monumental enough.

“I’ll be glad when it’s all over,” HB spoke a little quicker, her voice a little steadier. She gave a definitive nod, as if she approved of her efforts to overcome emotion.

“Me, too,” Dimity said quietly. With an uneasy breath, she continued, “Is there—do you need anything, either of you?”

HB stopped her polishing, looking up with a single, solid blink. For a moment, Dimity thought the woman might be insulted by her question—then she realized that HB was genuinely shocked.

“I…no, Miss Drill, you’ve done quite enough already.” Hecate winced at how quick and harsh her words came. Trying to soften her tone, she added, “I just mean…it’s already such a risk, what you’ve done so far. And if and when the time comes, I know you’ll still be a valuable help to us. But for now, we’re both quite alright.”

“Except you’re not,” Dimity pointed out. “And while I appreciate you not wanting to impose too much upon me, let me remind you that Gwen and Algie and I all said yes to this. We’re your _friends_, and our futures hang in the balance just as much as yours—and even if they didn’t, we’d still want to help. That’s what friends _do_, HB.”

HB looked like she might get all emotional again. Instead, she merely smiled and said, “Thank you, Drill.”

“Anytime. Now finish covering your broom in sub-par polish and let’s get back to the castle. We need to see what kind of damage that little card can do.”

* * *

With one last deep breath, Hecate sat down before her vanity and gingerly removed the contact card from her pocket. Dimity had wanted to wait around, to see what the card might do, but Hecate had insisted that she handle this part alone—it seemed too big of a risk, to involve Dimity when they weren’t sure what might happen. It could blow the charade entirely if Dimity’s involvement was somehow realized.

Instead, she’d sent Dimity on her way with two tasks: to take Ada to the greenhouse and inform her of the card’s existence, and to ensure that Ada harvested some fresh lavender from the garden. Ada might have been making coy little jokes about not sleeping as a way of teasing Hecate, but there was some truth to it—like the sea itself, Ada was easily affected by the shifting moon cycles, finding herself particularly exhausted during new moons and nearly insomniac during full ones.

Usually Hecate was around to…help exhaust her, when the full moon was too energizing. Or at the very least give her a light massage with lavender and lilac oils. Since neither of those scenarios were an option, the least she could do was ensure that Ada had some kind of sleep aid, even if it was a much less physically rewarding bundle of lavender to tuck under her pillow.

But it would still make Ada smile in that sweet, adoring way that she did, whenever she was feeling particularly loved. Hecate’s own mouth curled into a grin at the image. That was one of the many wonderful things about loving and being loved by Ada Cackle—no gesture was too big or too small. She blushed just the same, just as happy and adoring as the very first day they’d started down this path. Hecate had come to find that it was rather like a drug, that smile—she was constantly searching for little ways, little moments to bring it back again. Even if she couldn’t witness the beautiful sight herself.

The sooner she ended this whole awful intrigue, the sooner she could go back to witnessing every sight possible with Ada, she reminded herself. Pushing down her smile, she straightened her posture and lightly tapped the card against the mirror pane.

The Great Wizard answered immediately, his smug beam doing nothing to quell the uneasiness building in Hecate’s gut. “Ah, Miss Hardbroom. Perfect timing.”

“I called as soon as I could,” she could sense the sarcasm behind his words, could understand the tone in complete opposition to its message, and she found herself apologizing and offering excuses, like an errant child. By now, she knew him well enough to know that this was mainly just for show, to re-establish the boundary lines. She may have chosen how to fulfill this plan, but she was still just his instrument, in the grand scheme of it all. Her gaze flicked to the calling card, which she’d set on the vanity. His initials had vanished, leaving a blank card with filigreed edges.

Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

“Miss Rinewater informs me that things seem well in hand,” the Great Wizard spoke.

“How much does she know, exactly?” Hecate asked quietly. Just as with Ada, she played a reverse game of subterfuge with Romula—pretending to avoid her as much as possible, so as to not arouse suspicion.

“That you and she are both working towards a better, safer future. And that her task is to help you in any way that you need.”

Hecate wanted to roll her eyes at the obvious coyness, the side-stepping. Again, the Great Wizard’s attempt at establishing his supremacy. Hecate was just a tool, she didn’t need to worry about anything but her own functions.

“And how is Mildred coming along?” He changed the conversation easily. She could hear the doubt in his voice.

“The seeds are sown.” If he could be cryptic, then so could she. With as much of a patronizing tone as she could dare, Hecate reminded him, “It takes time to make these things happen properly, Your Greatness. It will be worth it, in the end.”

She sounded like she was soothing a petulant child, and he definitely noticed, given the silent harrumph and the shifting in his seat. Hecate ducked her head and made certain her smile never rose to the surface.

“And Miss Cackle?” The question hung in the air just a beat too long. Hecate looked up, confusion on her face and worry in her gut. The Great Wizard made a small gesture with his hands, “Does she…suspect anything?”

That wasn’t the question he wanted to ask. That wasn’t the question he was _actually_ asking. Hecate felt the dread creeping up her neck. She was a rather good planner, but moments like this, put on the spot with very little indication of what was really going on, while still vividly understanding that _something_ was going on—oh, she was not built for this.

Nevertheless, she willed herself still, willed herself controlled as she lightly cocked her head to the side, “I don’t think she suspects anything at all. She’s simply happy that it seems to be a quiet year, so far.”

“Well, it has only been a week,” the Great Wizard pointed out.

_You’ve never spent much time around young girls_, Hecate mused. _A week without mishap is an age in adult time._

Now that she thought about it, it did seem rather odd that a first year hadn’t set something on fire yet. She should probably redouble the alarm and protection spells.

“Right, well,” the Great Wizard shifted again, obviously preparing to dismiss the call. “Feel free to reach out at anytime, Hecate. I would like to know how things are going.”

_Check in more often_, Hecate got the message loud and clear. She gave a concise nod of understanding.

With that, the Great Wizard disappeared. Hecate stared at the mirror for a few beats, watching her own reflection take over the after images of the Great Wizard’s study.

That was when she realized what had been bothering her, this whole time. This card was supposed to be a private line, but it connected to a mirror still very much in public view. It didn’t make sense.

The acidic feeling in her stomach grew teeth and began to gnaw.

* * *

Ada lightly twirled a lavender sprig between her fingers as she continued her walk through the raised boxes of the academy’s learning garden. She’d already transferred the rest of the bundle to her chambers, feeling a small surge of simple happiness for the way Hecate had sent a little sign of affection through Dimity. It felt a bit school girlish, but she adored it, just the same. Given the circumstances, it was understandable.

Dimity had relayed the news about the calling card and Hecate’s suspicions, when she and Ada were in the greenhouse. Ada couldn’t help but agree that something was afoot, but she was just as lost as they were as to what that something actually was. She’d also noticed Miss Rinewater’s attention to Hecate, over breakfast. In fact, it was remarkably similar to how closely she’d watched Hecate at dinner, the night before.

Not for the first time, Ada wondered how much Romula Rinewater knew. What she _thought_ was happening. Years of watching Agatha had taught Ada that most people could be manipulated into doing some rather awful things, if they were convinced it was for a higher good or a greater cause. After all, Agatha had cloaked herself in the guise as some kind of heroine-savoir, to bring witches back to a time of freedom and absolute self-governance, when really all she wanted was to be the one governing everyone else. Anarchy to establish her own queendom.

It was hard, reconciling what she now knew about her twin with how deeply she still missed her, sometimes.

_She made her choice,_ Hecate’s voice pushed gently into her thoughts. _And you made yours—to protect us, to protect the school, to protect the girls_.

Ada nodded in agreement with her inner voice. She continued down the footpath, stopping here and there to check on the plants or put a little earthworm back into the raised beds. Almost without thought, her gaze traveled to the eastern corner of the bed, to the two crystals barely visible in the soil.

Hematite and amethyst. Both stones of protection, in their own ways. Each had quietly become the crystal calling card of Hecate and Ada, respectively. Ada smiled at the little representation of them, side by side, protecting the school even in the smallest of ways.

This was the part so many people did not understand. Yes, they lived here, had lived here for decades now, and it was their home—neither had originally been given much choice in the matter, but they had made it _theirs_, truly theirs, in ways that no one else could see.

Yes, the rest of the staff lived here as well, but they all had places to go during half terms, homes and inheritances waiting for them. Just this summer, Gwen and Algie had bought a house in Devonshire (of all places), which they’d decided to let during term times. When they finally retired, it would be their full time home. And Dimity had a small bit of land waiting for her, a cottage in her name that she’d owned since her Star of the Sky days, which she visited once a month and during the summers. Miss Gimlett had let her niece take over her apartment in London, but there was always an understanding that it would be returned if ever the woman decided to retire. The list went on and on, staff who either had other homes or had the means to purchase them once their time at Cackle’s was done.

Ada and Hecate had never really lived with such a safety net. In a way, it was part of why they defended the school so tirelessly—it was their home, more so than anyone else’s. And while it was certainly larger and filled with more tenants than most, they’d found little ways to make it truly feel like a home.

Even here, in the dirt, where one could be greeted with a little reminder of exactly who lived here. Ada reached out, gently brushing away the bits of soil that had built up around the crystals. She remembered the evening they’d placed them here, a set in every raised bed, the sun slowly waning and the crickets beginning to chirp. It had been just six years ago. Gimlett had campaigned for a new learning garden, and they’d taken the spring term to teach the girls how to find a proper location for a plot, how to draft plans for the beds, even how to assemble them (Hecate had been a nervous wreck, particularly after a girl smashed her thumb rather soundly with a hammer). The younger girls had not been enthusiastic about the endeavor, but the fifth years had approached the task with absolute gusto. They’d leapt at the chance to show off their magical skill by hauling in the bags of soil with floating spells. And when it came time to plant the seedlings, they’d used a ruler to make sure the rows were precise. Once the garden was complete, they had made quite a show of it, lining up like soldiers for an inspection drill whenever Miss Hardbroom came to examine their work. Ada knew that inwardly, Hecate had adored the silly stuffiness, thought outwardly she’d played her role as Miss Hardbroom as straight-faced and straight-laced as ever. There were whoops of victory when HB did proclaim their efforts passable enough, and Hecate hadn’t even turned away to hide her little smirk.

Ada’s heart filled with joy at the memory. Afterwards, Ada had declared there would be a special feast that night to commemorate everyone’s hard work, and she and Hecate pretended not to see when the fifth years all crouched around the bed at the very back of the garden, carving their names into the wooden boards.

The names were still there, though the girls had long since gone. Another little tribute to what Hecate and Ada had built here, to what they fought for, even now.

Once the feast was over and the girls had gone upstairs to enjoy their free hour before bed, Hecate and Ada had walked these pathways again, quietly ensuring that everything was truly done properly and setting the necessary spells to help the plants grow and keep them safe from harm. They’d placed the crystals here, bodies quietly brushing against each other as they’d leaned over and put them in the soil. Hecate’s hand had lightly stroked the small of Ada’s back, satisfied and proud. They’d repeated the ritual for each bed, rarely exchanging words—there had been no need, their smiles and gentle touches speaking volumes in the dimming twilight.

Hecate had gotten a little emotional at the last bed, when she’d seen the girls’ names carved in the wood. They’d only had a few weeks left with their eldest girls; she had begun to feel the loss. It had been Ada’s turn to wrap her arm around Hecate’s waist, rubbing small circles of comfort on her hip. _Come along, love, it’s not quite over yet._

It still wasn’t. Not if Ada had anything to say about it. She’d have many more years quietly kissing her wife’s tears and fears away, letting herself fall in love all over again with the soft sweet thing in the prickly outer shell, feeling her own measures of pride and joyful loss as another class graduated the academy with their bright young faces and their sharp young minds, off to set the world ablaze with their brilliance. And she’d have many more years of watching her wife’s self-satisfied smirk whenever she read an article featuring—or perhaps written by—one of their girls, the delight and pride palpable in the set of her shoulders and the sheen of her eyes.

_They’ve done well_, Hecate would say. Ada always felt there was a second, unspoken statement: _We’ve done well._

It wasn’t entirely about personal pride, though, Ada knew. It was about having proof that what they’d built—what they’d sacrificed for, fought for, and yes, nearly died for—was worth the effort. It was about pointing to the world and saying _look, there’s the bit of good we’ve done, the proof that we’re still doing the right thing, making the right decisions_. And Hecate wanted that for Ada, just as much as she did for herself. Ada had made quite a few changes (not all of them well-received) when she became headmistress, and Hecate reveled in being able to hold up proof that her ideas had been successful, that _Ada_ had been successful.

They’d both been trying to undo their childhoods, they both knew that. Trying to prove something—Hecate that a child could have both joy and discipline, Ada that a child could do whatever they chose, despite the predictions of parents or the mistakes of their past. And perhaps no one else ever actually realized the point they were trying to make, but perhaps it wasn’t about proving it to anyone other than themselves. To do what little they could to prevent the tragedies from repeating.

Ada stared down at the names carved into the wood, her chest feeling tight and heavy suddenly. She blinked back tears and allowed herself one single sigh.

She wanted Hecate. Here. With her. Knowing that Hecate wanted the same thing either made it better or worse, but Ada truly couldn’t decide which. She looked up at the castle, to the windows that she knew were Hecate’s private chambers. _Hecate, Hecate, let down your raven hair. Let me climb up, let me come in._

Her mind returned to the mystery of the card. Dimity had mentioned it feeling weird—the woman was quite highly attuned to energy shifts, which meant there was most likely some kind of magic in it. Maybe it was just to protect a private line, but Ada highly doubted it.

Aside from being born a woman, Ada never really understood what she’d done to invite the Great Wizard’s mistrust. In the months before his election to the post, he’d campaigned on the premise that he was a progressive answer to the previous Great Wizard’s draconian ways. Since the position was a life-long one, it had been decades since there had been any hope of change—he’d been heralded like a breath of fresh spring air.

The air had become decidedly stale over the years. Though for the most part, he’d not deigned to worry about a little academy full of witches. Until Mildred Hubble’s arrival, that is. It was all too close to a repeat performance of Indigo Moon (though truthfully, that had been Hecate’s feelings as well, in the beginning), an incident that was still a thorn in his side, due to Hecate Hardbroom’s refusal to reveal the whereabouts of the then-statue’s location.

That was perhaps the oddest bit of this whole intrigue, Ada thought. Hellibore knew that Hecate Hardbroom, for all her preaching about upholding the Code, still had a rebellious streak in her. He knew that she wasn’t entirely what she pretended to be, knew she held a loyalty to Ada, and yet…he still chose her. How could he be so blind?

Unless he wasn’t.

The thought sent an ice pick of fear through Ada’s heart. Maybe the Great Wizard truly did think that Hecate’s desire to protect future generations from her old mistake outweighed any personal loyalty she might have. Or maybe he knew that Indigo, now alive and well, had crumbled those long-held beliefs. Maybe he knew that Hecate didn’t truly feel this way, anymore.

Which meant the trap wasn’t just for Ada.

Agatha’s greatest crime, in the eyes of the Council, had been her reckless endangerment of future generations of witches, her willingness to sacrifice the greater whole of their community for her own selfish aims, and her attempts to subvert the pillars of their society, thus causing further instability. If Hecate Hardbroom was caught in a plot to attempt practically the same thing, how similar would her punishment be?

Ada felt a wash of panic at the idea of her wife, forever trapped in some photograph. That’s all it would take, Ada knew—she’d follow any edict the Great Wizard set forth, do anything to stay at the Academy, to stay near Hecate. Then he wouldn’t have to prove a point. He could simply snap his fingers, demand that Cackle’s stop accepting nonmagical girls or else Ada would be removed from the school, and that would be that. Multiple birds, one twisted stone.

She hurried back to the castle, casting one last worried glance at Hecate’s window. _Oh, be careful, my love. Be careful, for both our sakes._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental Casting Note: For Gardenia Gimlett, I pictured the absolutely dynamite Una Stubbs. I honestly wish the 2017 series would bring her back for some random guest role. She's just the bats.

It was Gwen Bat who figured it out, in the end. Saturday evening, she eased into a comfy chair in the library, across from Dimity Drill, who was busily looking over old drafts of previous sports day plans, trying to organize this year’s event into something slightly different, to keep the girls on their toes.

“Looked in a mirror lately?” She asked conversationally. That immediately got Dimity’s attention—the younger woman’s head snapped up, confusion evident in her face.

“No,” Dimity drew the word out, eyebrows lifting slowly.

Gwen immediately produced a small mirror, which she handed to Dimity.

“Try to make a call,” she suggested. “Call my room.”

Dimity pulled the card for Gwen’s room from vanishment, lightly tapping it against the pane. After a few pulses of the call waiting for Gwen to answer, the older woman motioned for Dimity to hang up. Then she sent the mirror away as well.

“Notice anything?” She asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Not really,” Dimity admitted. Gwen hummed, as if she expected such an answer.

“If you’ve never seen it before, it’s hard to tell,” she admitted. “There’s a light film over the mirror, when you make a call—and it’s only there when you’re using the mirror to communicate, not when the mirror’s just being a mirror, mind you.”

“What is it?” Dimity warred between wanting to know and dreading what the answer could be.

“It’s a mirroring spell,” Gwen said simply. With a gesture of her hands, she clarified, “It projects whatever’s happening on the two connected mirrors to a third mirror.”

Dimity’s eyes widened. A magical wiretap? It made sense that such a thing could exist, she realized, but she was still a bit surprised that it did—and even more surprised that it was at Cackle’s.

“Back in my early singing days, I had a manager who was obsessed with the idea that I maintain a very…_virginal_ reputation,” Gwen lifted her eyebrow suggestively. “It wasn’t until months later that I found out my mirrors were enchanted with this spell, to ensure that all of my communications, with fans or suitors or anyone else in the industry, were above board and in-line with the image he wanted to project.”

“Wow that’s…terrifying and disgusting,” Dimity admitted. Gwen hummed in agreement.

“Yes. I found a new manager, as soon as I discovered the truth. Needless to say, it made me a bit paranoid for quite a while. And even though it’s been ages since I’ve seen such a thing, I could still tell exactly what it was, the moment I called my sister on the mirror this afternoon.” Gwen shifted in her seat, fixing Dimity with a meaningful look. “Makes you wonder who would do that here. And what they might be looking for—what they’re hoping to see.”

Dimity’s entire body jolted with realization. The Great Wizard. The strange calling card, the weird pulsing feeling of magic when it touched her fingertips.

“Bats and boils,” she breathed. “I think I know exactly who, and exactly what they’re looking for.”

* * *

Hecate paced, turning in smaller and tighter circles as the tension continued to build, pushing against her skin almost painfully.

It had been just over twenty four hours since her little visit to the greenhouse with Ada. She’d told herself the interlude would help, easing the tension and longing for her wife that had plagued her during the week. The tightness currently inhabiting her chest wildly disagreed.

Some of it was the full moon, she conceded. It affected everyone, but it always made Ada particularly restless. She’d been jittery at dinner—normally such behavior would have Hecate inwardly singing in joy, knowing what would follow, as soon as they were alone.

Hecate _was_ alone—not alone with Ada, and not alone in the room that was now hers, just as much as Ada’s. She was alone and aching and angry at a world where they had to be like this.

She knew Ada could take care of herself—she _hoped_ her wife was doing something to stave off the frenetic energy a full moon always brought. Her jaw tightened as she imagined just what Ada could be doing, at that very moment. How she would look, the sounds she would make.

In a moment of absolute weakness, Hecate thought that she could just…check in on her. Make sure she was alright. Make sure she had enough lavender for her pillow. Make any excuse to lean in, just a little, to that body that set off all sorts of reactions in her own, to watch those blue eyes widen, those pupils dilate, to silently echo all the things Hecate’s gaze was surely saying as well.

No, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave her rooms, she told herself. Wouldn’t give anyone the chance to find her wandering the halls at such an hour.

She didn’t _have_ to leave her room, her one-track mind stipulated. A quick mirror call could…reassure her of any concerns she might have.

She closed her eyes, stifling another shaking sigh at memories of Ada away at conferences, the things they'd done through the mirror, the ways they'd showed how much they’d missed each other, images of Ada across various hotel beds, as Hecate had watched and Hecate had wanted.

Oh, how she wanted, especially now. Yes, it was a physical desire, but a psychological one as well. She wanted the normalcy of their intimacy back, wanted the reassurance that despite this charade, despite the danger all around, they were exactly the same, still safe and still themselves, in the best of ways. She wanted it so deeply that her teeth began to hurt, protesting under the grinding clenching of her jaw.

She moved swiftly towards the mirror. She would just check in on Ada, nothing more. It wouldn’t devolve (_it absolutely would_). It was just a small thing, she could have this much, and not need any more.

A knock on her door, frantic and forceful, made her jump. Hecate took a moment to make herself more presentable before opening the door, feeling a measure of surprise to see Dimity Drill standing in the corridor.

“I figured out what the card was for.”

* * *

Hecate paced the length of the greenhouse wall, eyes studiously trying to avoid the potting table, trying not to remember the last time she’d been here. A rather hard feat, as Dimity was currently sitting cross-legged, smack dab in the middle of said table, as she explained Gwen’s theory behind the mirrors.

It made sense. Both logically and physiologically—because as soon as it clicked in her brain, that odd testing feeling in her gut eased as well, certain that this was the thing she hadn’t been able to see.

After Dimity finished, Hecate quietly began planning, “We need to tell Ada—”

“Gwen’s on it,” Dimity gave a curt nod. “We split up to come tell you both.”

Hecate felt a wash of relief. Yes, she’d balked at the idea of having so many people in on the intrigue, but moments like this made it quite helpful. She continued her mental list, “We have to tell Mildred as well. She’s—I let her call her mother, though I’m not sure if she discusses anything—”

“Even if she doesn’t, she’s now got an audience,” Dimity piped up. “She’s got a part to play—she has to be just as convincing as you are in this, HB.”

Hecate made a small sound of agreement, though Dimity could tell there was some hesitance. Not that she blamed her—it was hard, to think of putting happy little Mildred Hubble in such a position.

“We have to warn Julie, too,” Hecate pointed out.

_Oh, so you’re on a first name basis now, are you?_ Dimity marveled at that. If the situation were only slightly less serious, she might actually tease the woman about it. Instead, she volunteered, “I could do it.”

Hecate merely nodded. They both understood that if the mirrors were compromised, warning Julie meant going in-person to her home, and Hecate’s movements were under far more scrutiny than Dimity’s.

“Thank you,” Hecate said quietly, rubbing the palms of her hands together as her pacing slowed. “And Ada? You made sure she took some lavender—”

“I told you I would, HB,” Dimity’s eyes flicked heavenwards in a facsimile of an eyeroll. “She walked away with a great big bunch of it. Smiling like an absolute fool because she knew you were the one who sent me. It’s a bit sickening, you two and your lovey-dovey _caring_.”

She was teasing, and Hecate knew it. The potions mistress merely smirked.

“I’ll be sure to give you a medal after this, Drill. For courage in the face of such daunting tasks.”

“I’d prefer cash,” Dimity informed her, hopping off the table and dusting the seat of her pants. With a theatrical sigh, Hecate transferred them back to the castle.

Hecate wanted to clarify, one last time. To remind Dimity to warn Julie as soon as possible. But she held back—Drill was an adult, she knew that, she knew the woman would do as she promised.

However, Dimity must have read the desire plainly in her expression because she gently placed her hand on Hecate’s upper arm, softly reassuring her, “First thing tomorrow, I’m on it.”

Hecate nodded, feeling a flash of relief. Then she walked back into her private chambers, giving the mirror a look of suspicion. She felt the anxiety-edged relief of having just narrowly dodged a trap.

But the fact that the Great Wizard had been looking to trap her in the first place only increased her worry. She went to bed, wishing she could be back in _her_ bed, curled up around Ada as they quietly solved their problems together, instead of through a disjointed game of telephone. She wondered how Ada had taken the news, how she felt now, knowing that this new danger was afoot. The thought of Ada, afraid and alone, pulled tears from her eyes. She let herself fall into the feeling, let herself fall apart for just a little while, let herself fall into uneasy sleep, occasionally waking to find her cheeks still wet and her heart still aching. It was fine to be weak now, she told herself. Ada wasn’t there to see.

* * *

Dimity had never been more nervous to deliver a simple message. She was up before the dawn, going through her wardrobe and trying to find an appropriate outfit (just because she wanted to blend in to the nonmagical world, of course, not because she was worried about what Julie Hubble might think). Finally she settled on a respectable enough ensemble, forcing herself to wait until a decent hour before setting off.

As she stood in front of Julie Hubble’s door, arm raised to knock, she realized how reckless this was. What if Julie was still asleep? What if she was already gone, off on some grand adventure for the day? What if—what if _he_ was there?

Dimity closed her eyes softly against the thought. Last time she’d seen Julie Hubble, it had been at Gwen and Algie’s wedding—and Julie had left early. Over the summer, Dimity had heard that she’d somehow started dating the idiot nonmagical man who’d been mistakenly taken to the castle as the wedding officiant. Dimity still wasn’t sure how such a thing could be possible, but it made things rather clear to her: if that was the sort of thing Julie Hubble was attracted to, then Dimity Drill could never hope to win her affection.

It also…put almost every past interaction into speculative scrutiny. Before the wedding, Dimity could have sworn there was something there, between them. That her attraction to the blonde was a mutual one, even if they hadn’t acted upon it. And now…now Dimity must have simply misunderstood, misinterpreted Julie’s actions completely.

Well, she understood now. And she could respect that. Julie Hubble was still a good egg, and she was helping them play this dangerous game. And most importantly, she was still a friend—one that Dimity intended to keep.

With a curt nod of self-approval, Dimity pushed forward, rapping sharply against the door in a friendly beat.

The door opened relatively quickly, implying that Julie had been nearby. Julie’s face peered around the edge of the door, her eyebrows skyrocketing when she saw Dimity, “Oh! Come in.”

She stepped back, opening the door wider and motioning for Dimity to enter. She was still in sweatpants and a tank under her housecoat, obviously enjoying a lazy Sunday morning.

“I’m sorry for the early hour,” Dimity informed her. “It’s just—it couldn’t really wait—”

“No worries, I’ve been awake for ages,” Julie replied easily. She locked the door behind them, ushering Dimity into the sitting room as she hurried to make an extra cup of tea for the flying instructor. “Perhaps you should cut to the chase and tell me what’s earned me a personal visit from the Star of the Sky herself.”

There was a teasing edge to her tone, but the worry was still just beneath the surface. Dimity ducked her head slightly, obliging, “It’s about the mirrors. They’ve been…bugged. Mildred's being warned, but we wanted you to know, too.”

“And obviously, you couldn’t tell me via mirror call,” Julie surmised, suddenly understanding. She shuffled back to Dimity, handing her a mug of tea before taking her own from the coffee table and curling up on the couch next to Dimity. She took a small sip before asking, “But…Millie’s alright? She’s not…she’s doing well?”

“She’s doing great. Indie, too.” Dimity assured her with a smile.

Julie gave a small sigh, shaking her head. “I just…I know, I _know_ Miss Hardbroom wouldn’t have asked, if there had been any other way. And I know I couldn’t ever keep Millie from doing what she thinks is right, even if I actually wanted to. It’s just—does the right thing always have to be so damn dangerous?”

Dimity gave a small chuckle of sympathy. Julie raked her fingers through her still-very tangled curls, taking a moment to simply look at Dimity before gently asking, “And how are you?”

“Me?” Dimity blinked, surprised. “I’m good, I guess. Anxious, obviously. But…I have faith.”

That was true, she realized with a slight wave of shock. After everything she’d endured at Cackle’s, all the mishaps and near-misses, she still had absolute faith that Ada and HB could pull it off.

The relief in Julie’s warm smile sent a wave of happiness through Dimity’s chest as well. “You know, surprisingly, I feel the same. I know that as dangerous as it could be, my Millie’s surrounded by the very best witches the world has to offer—and they’ll keep her safe, no matter what.”

She placed her hand on Dimity’s arm at that, including her in that statement. She let her thumb rub against the fabric of Dimity’s sleeve, just for a few seconds. Then she forced herself to pull away, to not make Dimity uncomfortable.

Dimity’s brain was still short circuiting—over the contact, the light of Julie’s smile, the fact that Julie had leaned in slightly, the idea that if Dimity leaned in, just a few inches more, she could easily capture that smiling mouth into a kiss. She took a sip of her tea, letting it scald her tongue and take her mind off thoughts of things she could never do, things she must teach herself not to want anymore.

“So,” Julie gave a small sigh. “Are you busy, or do you have time to actually enjoy a proper breakfast?”

“Well, technically it’s a free day for me,” Dimity answered slowly, slightly wary.

“Then the very least I can do is take you out to a nice breakfast,” Julie was beaming again, obviously delighted at her own idea. “There’s a new café just a few blocks away, if you don’t mind a little walk.”

“Oh, Julie, I wouldn’t want to—”

“_I’m_ asking _you_, Dimity. If it was an imposition, I wouldn’t have asked. It just seems silly for you to come all this way to deliver a message, and not get _something_ fun out of it.”

Dimity tried not to imagine that statement out of context, really, she did. But Julie was shifting, standing up to smile down at her again.

“I’ll just go get changed. Five minutes.”

With one last winning smile, Julie disappeared down the hall. Dimity felt a bit taken aback. Julie’s reasoning made sense, of course—why shouldn’t Dimity enjoy her day off, after all?—but it still felt odd, knowing she was about to spend time with Julie Hubble, time that didn’t revolve around the school or responsibility, or anything besides breakfast with a dear friend.

A dear friend. Yes, Dimity could teach herself to see Julie as that, only that. And today would make it easier.

That certainty lasted exactly seven minutes—until Julie Hubble re-emerged, this time in a wispy summer dress that almost made her legs seem obscene. She seemed…almost timid, her hands smoothing down her stomach as she gauged Dimity’s approval. “Ready?”

Dimity was on her feet in a flash, “Absolutely.”

* * *

“So,” Julie donned some rather large sunglasses as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Her voice was perfectly nonchalant as she continued, “How’s Harmonia?”

“Who?” It took Dimity’s brain a second to catch up. “Oh, she’s…fine, I guess.”

Honestly, she hadn’t thought about Harmonia Bat in months. Not since Gwen and Algie’s wedding, when Gwen’s niece had stopped by to say hello. They’d danced together, had a few laughs as they exchanged stories of Gwen, but that was about it, really. Harmonia was a solid decade younger than Dimity, if not more, and they hadn’t had terribly much in common to discuss, besides their connection to Gwen and their mutual love of broom sports.

“She seems nice,” Julie added, her tone odd.

“She is, I guess,” Dimity conceded. “I wouldn’t really know—but she’s part of Gwen’s family, and they’re all pretty good eggs.”

“I meant—sorry, I thought—aren’t you…dating her?”

Now Dimity stopped walking, eyes wide. Julie stopped, turning back with a slight frown.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

Julie made a hapless gesture with her hands, her cheeks practically glowing red, “I mean—you were—she was—sorry. I just…thought.”

She didn’t finish, didn’t say exactly what she thought, but Dimity still understood well enough.

“Sorry,” Julie said again, tucking her hair behind her ear as she shifted, turning back in the direction of the café.

Dimity started moving forward again as well. “No need to apologize. I mean…I’m flattered that anyone thought I could still pull a younger woman’s attention like that.”

Julie gave a small chuckle at Dimity’s self-effacing humor, though she quietly countered, “It’s not that hard to fathom. You two looked…quite nice, dancing together. You seemed happy.”

“I was,” Dimity agreed. “But not because of her in particular.”

Julie hummed in understanding. An odd silence ensued, and even though Dimity desperately wanted to break it with more questions, she couldn’t muster the strength to actually do so.

By the time they reached the café, the awkward air was gone. Dimity didn’t tempt fate by bringing it up again.

* * *

It was nearly noon when Dimity returned to the academy. HB was already waiting outside the door of Dimity’s chambers, face drawn with worry. However, her tense posture relaxed a bit, when she saw Dimity strolling down the corridor.

“I trust it went well?” HB asked, each word meticulously clipped and weighted.

“It did,” Dimity couldn’t help the smile blossoming across her face. HB blinked at that, obviously not expecting such a happy response. Dimity easily switched gears, “And how’d Millie take it?”

HB blanched at that, too—Dimity had been with Julie for too long, now she’d resorted to calling Mildred by her nickname, just like her mum. However the potions mistress recovered, “Quite well. She informed me that she’s already been overly cautious in what she tells her mother, so that won’t change much.”

“Good,” Dimity nodded in approval.

“Good,” HB repeated. She was still watching Dimity with an air of mild fascination. After a beat, she asked, “And Julie is…well?”

“Quite well,” Dimity replied. The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile again.

HB gave a little hum at that. Then with a slight shift, she pushed back into her Miss Hardbroom role, arched and almost-bored as she intoned, “Well, thank you, Miss Drill. I do hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

Dimity merely nodded as HB clipped down the hall.

Hecate’s brain was still whirring, turning over the scene she’d just witnessed. The lightness in Dimity’s step. The way her face lit up like a Yule tree at the mention of Julie Hubble. That particular smile, soft and sweet. Hecate knew all too well what those signs meant—she’d exhibited them herself, many years ago, had seen them reflected in Ada as well.

Something might have to be done about that, she thought to herself. After all, Dimity Drill deserved to be happy. As did Julie Hubble (and yes, Hecate inwardly marveled that she could ever have such a thought, about such a woman).

Once this was all over, she told herself, she might have to start meddling in Dimity’s private affairs. Just a little, just enough. They were friends now, weren’t they? And that’s what friend were for, wasn’t it?

She grinned at her own plan. Yes, once this was over, she’d tell Ada about it, too. Her wife would leap at the chance to play cupid. The burble of joy in her chest at the thought of Ada’s reaction was enough to carry Hecate throughout the rest of the day, smiling softly as she enjoyed her little secret.

Yes, once this scheme was finally put to rest, they could focus their skills and abilities on a far kinder venture. Drill could thank them later.

* * *

Gardenia Gimlett—better known as Dena to her friends, what few she still had—instantly knew that something was amiss, before she even actually opened the door to the greenhouse. She could feel the oddness, the not-rightness of the magic pushing against her skin as she approached, could practically hear her plants crying out in various tones of distress and dissatisfaction at whatever had occurred.

She held up her hand, her magic lightly seeking out answers as it slipped under the door of the greenhouse, slithering and winding its way through the small shed. Whatever pushed back wasn’t evil…just different. Not her own. Not a magical signature she was familiar with—and certainly not a magical signature that belonged in this _particular_ greenhouse, which had been knit with spells by Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle.

Satisfied that there wasn’t any danger, she opened the door and stepped inside. The air was cool, if a bit damper than she’d like, given the current crop of plants held within—it was bordering on perfect conditions for moldy soil, and no one wanted that. She took slow, measured steps, winding her way through the tables and shelves, almost all covered in plants. She reached out, lightly rubbing her thumb over a broad, flat leaf of one of the greenhouse’s permanent residents, an air purifying plant that preferred the cool and the shadow.

“What is it, my dear one?” She asked quietly, practically cooing. The plant was unhappy, she could feel it wanting to rage at her, to tell her whatever awful thing had happened.

Plants weren’t nearly as communicative as familiars, but if one spent enough time and effort, understanding them wasn’t a particularly difficult feat. The leaf twitched slightly against her thumb, obviously unhappy. This particular plant was a bit like a watchdog—it didn’t like newcomers, didn’t like anything that seemed to threaten the little seedlings it hung over, didn’t like any disturbance that wasn’t within its usual realm.

“Did someone new come in here?” She guessed. The slight slither of the leaf against her thumbpad was an affirmation. That still didn’t account for the level of rage radiating from the plant. She pushed a little further, “Did they do something, something to the other plants?”

Again, a shiver of affirmation. Dena gave a small hum, leaning down slightly to ruffle her fingertips over the row of seedlings on the shelf below. Yes, they hummed with a strange magic—and their own reactions were ones of mild confusion. They weren’t hurt, but they didn’t especially like whatever spell had been placed over them.

And whatever spell it was, it was fighting against the spells Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom had already placed here.

Certainly not a good sign. No wonder her poor darlings were so distressed.

With a heavy sigh, Miss Gimlett rose to her full height again. She reached up, stroking the indignant plant again as she reassured them all, “Don’t worry, my dears. We’ll have it all sorted, soon enough.”

* * *

At lunchtime, Hecate noticed the small dish set between every set of plates with a slight frown. It was a white porcelain bowl, filled with a few leaves of….

“Sage?” Ada supplied, face quirking in confusion as well. She held up a leaf, sniffing it lightly for confirmation.

Her blue eyes flicked over to Hecate. There was a beat of understanding.

“What’s this?” Gwen asked, from her place at Ada’s left.

“Sage,” Dena Gimlett supplied, further cementing Ada and Hecate’s suspicions. “I thought it would be a lovely addition to the meal. Especially since it’s the last time we can harvest it, before winter.”

Miss Gimlett didn’t make any effort to make eye contact with Ada or Hecate, but the raised tone of her voice implied that she’d wanted to be certain that they heard every word. Ada confirmed with a soft, “Very kind of you, Miss Gimlett, thank you.”

Again, she looked over at Hecate, who was studiously focused on her butternut soup. However, Ada still felt the light pulse of Hecate’s magic, brushing against her skin. _I know, love, I know_.

One of Hecate’s many checklists had included a list of signs and signals they could use to communicate nonverbally, for times when scrutiny was too high. They’d agreed with Miss Gimlett that the use of plants would be an excellent way to pass along meanings.

Sage. The purification herb. A sign that the greenhouse has been tainted, compromised in some way.

_It’s the last time we can harvest it._ Gimlett’s way of confirming that they couldn’t go back there, couldn’t trust the space to be uncompromised.

Irritation and anxiety fought for dominance under Hecate’s skin. There had always been a chance of this happening, she knew. But it didn’t make it any less frustrating—and truth be told, she thought they’d been quite careful. Certainly careful enough that this shouldn’t have happened after a single meeting in the greenhouse, three meetings if she included the meetings between her and Dimity, and Ada and Dimity. The idea that they had somehow been sloppier than she’d realized only increased the anxious feeling rippling through her veins and tightening her stomach. What other clues was she leaving behind, what other things was she missing? How else was she failing, failing their plan, failing Ada, failing their girls?

She needed to talk to Ada. They needed to discuss, to plan, to regroup. Another surge of anger roiled as she realized they didn’t even have a safe space for that, not anymore.

Not that she would let that stop her. She’d been clever before, she could figure out a clever trick again.

Ada must have sensed her emotional state (not that it could have been difficult to guess, Hecate conceded), because she felt the gentle push of Ada’s magic, rippling against her hip with a soft sense of reassurance.

And despite the absolute danger of it, despite the crowded room and the watchful eyes, despite it all, Hecate let her left hand slip down, just briefly. Ada’s right hand mimicked her movement, pinky finger lightly hooking Hecate’s for the briefest of moments, a flash of connection and contact. _I’m here. You’re here. We’re still here. Still alright_.

How she wished she could share her wife’s certainty. Her gaze slid over to Ada, who was now chatting away with Gwen, smiling as if there wasn’t a thing wrong in the world.

Except Hecate could see the tension in Ada’s shoulders, the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, the way her right hand was curled up in her lap again, clutching her napkin for dear life. She realized that her wife’s certainty was bravado, an attempt to put Hecate at ease. She felt a familiar tug at her heart for Ada’s kindness, for her strength, for her ability to put on the bravest of faces, even in the darkest of adversities.

Hecate didn’t need all the answers, she reminded herself. She just needed the woman beside her. So like any good potion, she broke it down into steps, into ingredients and the order in which they were needed.

She needed a way to talk to Ada. Once she decided on that, she could break down exactly how to make it happen. She returned her attention to her soup, mind busily clicking and whirring as she absentmindedly responded to Dimity’s conversation, which thankfully was about some sporting event, which meant Dimity didn’t really expect her to contribute much.

As soon as lunch was over, she transferred to her lab and set to work. She’d truly been thinking of exactly who she was, after the end of her confinement—a question she’s finally broached with Ada, when they’d visited the Outer Hebrides. Ada had helped her remember, and now, Hecate was reminding herself.

She was the kind of woman who didn’t give up. She moved around her obstacles, finding other ways with the steady persistence of the water her wife’s magic loved so well. This was no different, and neither was she.

She was still the woman who overcame. She just had to figure out how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole bit about Julie mistakenly assuming that Dimity is now dating Gwen's niece Harmonia was inspired by this prompt I wrote for the Cackle's Prompt Challenge: https://marvellouslymadmim.tumblr.com/post/187962162366/dimity-indigo-basement-socks-bonus-points-if


	5. Chapter 5

Ada wasn’t sure that she could blame the full moon for her lack of rest that night. Despite her lovely bundle of lavender, thanks to her wife’s suggestion, her mind simply could not quieten. She knew that Miss Gimlett’s message had spooked Hecate, and Ada had spent the rest of the day fretting, pacing her office as her mind twisted and turned between trying to formulate a plan and trying to think of a way to reach out to Hecate and offer some kind of reassurance.

At dinner, Hecate had seemed calmer. She’d simply given Ada a long, meaningful look as they’d taken their seats at the table, and Ada had understood that it was both a warning, and a promise—Hecate had figured something out, and Ada needed to be ready for whenever Hecate could enact her new plan.

It obviously wasn’t happening tonight, whatever it was. Ada sighed, taking off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. She paused for a second, slightly surprised not to hear her wife’s suggestion of peppermint tea, which usually was voiced every time Ada gave even the slightest hint of having a headache—her heart cried at how endearingly predictable life with Hecate had become, and how she was currently being deprived of that wonderful pattern.

Still, Hecate’s suggestion, had it occurred, would have been a good one. Ada could have easily transferred her tea service into her bedroom, but the idea of a walk seemed rather appealing, given the fact that she was far too wide awake and the room seemed far too quiet without her wife.

Pendle padded alongside as Ada made her way through the darkened, empty hallways, feeling a familiar wash of nostalgia in the quiet calm. How many times in her childhood did she sneak down these halls with her sister? How many times in her teens did she spend the whole night, simply winding her way through the halls, trying to outrun her own thoughts, her own destiny? How many times, in all the years since her return, had she reacquainted herself with the winding paths, letting her feet take her wherever they willed as her mind unraveled one problem or another?

She didn’t wander the halls as much, these days. Mainly because having Hecate in her bed meant there was far less appeal to being anywhere else. Hecate was there to talk over problems, to offer quiet advice or simply a sympathetic ear. Hecate was there to distract her, when she needed to be distracted, and to help her unpack the issue, whenever it needed her full attention. But Hecate wasn’t there, and here Ada was, wandering the halls again.

She quickly made herself a cup of peppermint tea, but she didn’t stay in her office. Instead, she kept her cup and saucer in hand, quietly continuing her destination-less journey through the castle.

Even without conscious thought, her feet still drew her where her heart wished to go. She found herself turning down the corridor, through the wing of classrooms—to the potions lab, the only classroom slightly more isolated than the rest, due to the volatile nature of the concoctions being created.

The thin line of light under the door made her stop in surprise.

_Hecate_. Her heart leapt with the thought, with the realization that she was just there, just beyond the closed door. Ada could just…stop in, check in on her. Just see her, see how she was doing. After all, that was perfectly natural, to check on someone who was still awake at this hour. Even if anyone else was around, there was nothing suspect about it.

So she quietly knocked on the door before opening it, peering around to see Hecate standing over her desk, turned towards her with a confused frown.

“Ada,” she breathed, the relief and delight washing over her features so quickly that Ada felt her throat tighten in response. She was absolutely beautiful, when she was happy.

“I see I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Ada offered a small smile.

“Headache?” Hecate must have picked up the scent of her tea. Ada merely hummed in confirmation, stepping further into the room. Pendle was still with her, padding into the room with a curious air.

“Dare I ask what’s kept you up so late?” Ada took a sip of her tea. Hecate’s slight look of concern upon hearing of her headache was motivation enough—she had to show that she was taking care of herself, to show Hecate there was one less thing to fret over.

Another uneasy look passed over her wife’s features, and Ada understood—Hecate was afraid to speak, to say too much. With the greenhouse compromised and mirror calls under surveillance, there was the potential that no place was safe, that eyes were everywhere, ears constantly listening as well.

“There’s a new potion I wanted to try,” Hecate informed her. She glanced down, hands delicately fluttering over the ingredients meticulously assembled and ordered on her worn desk. “I thought—it’s best to do it, without students running around.”

“Wise idea,” Ada conceded. “Mind if I keep you company, just for a little while?”

“Please do,” Hecate magicked a chair, one slightly more comfortable than the one she used at her desk. She watched Ada for a beat, the lines around her eyes tightening with unspoken emotions, feeling even farther away from her wife, now that she was here, now that she was pretending as if they were mere shades of their true selves. Ada smiled softly, her own expression tinged with regret.

Hecate ducked her head, returned her attention to her ingredients. Ada could see the slight downward turn of her shoulders, the sadness and longing etched in her tired face—her throat tightened with unshed tears. This was torture, to see her wife so distressed and being completely helpless to do anything about it.

Pendle sat close by, and Ada let her free hand come down to lightly scratch his head. The small movement caught Hecate’s eye. She gave a small hitch of her shoulders, as if remembering something—then, before Ada could ask what was the matter, Hecate transferred Morgana into her arms, gently setting her down to play with Pendle.

Except Morgana was in no mood for playing. The second her paws touched the floor, she puffed up to twice her size, tail twitching with dangerous energy as a growl rumbled in her throat.

“Morgana Hardbroom,” Hecate admonished, her tone soft and shocked. “_Manners_.”

Wasted words, as Morgana launched herself at Pendle with a yowl, the two cats tumbling into a flurry of hisses and swipes.

Hecate was practically sliding across the floor on her knees, diving in to grab Morgana and pull her back, giving a small hiss of her own at getting her hand caught in the crossfire of claws and teeth.

“What on earth?” Ada was on her feet as well, teacup vanished as she gathered Pendle into her arms. Hecate was staring up at her with wide eyes, obviously shaken by the sudden turn of events. Morgana was still writhing in her arms, still intent on coming after Pendle again.

“I-I-I don’t know,” Hecate was trembling, her head shaking in disbelief as she turned her attention to her familiar. She tried to hold Morgana tighter, to calm her down, but the cat only continued to fight.

Ada sent Pendle back to her chambers. Morgana immediately stopped growling. However, she used her surprisingly powerful back legs to push hard against Hecate’s chest, effectively launching herself out of her witch’s grasp and darting out the open door like a bat out of hell.

Hecate twisted, reaching out to stop her cat, though she was far too rattled to actually catch her.

“What just happened?” Ada breathed, not quite sure she actually wanted the answer.

Hecate was struggling to her feet, her typically tight skirt making it difficult and her rattled nerves not helping said difficulty. She rocked back onto her heels, wobbling as she rose. Ada reached out, instinctively steadying her.

“You’re bleeding,” Ada realized, keeping Hecate’s scratched and bitten hands trapped between her own.

“She’s never….” Hecate swiveled her gaze back to the open door. “She’s never bit me before. Not—not beyond the usual playing.”

“This wasn’t playful,” Ada leaned in slightly, giving a small sound of sympathy. The scratches would heal just fine on their own, but the bite on Hecate’s left hand definitely needed attention. It was deep, and the bleeding wasn’t stopping anytime soon. “We need to get you bandaged up.”

The adrenaline had finally stopped roaring in Hecate’s ears, and she slowly drifted back into her own body. She actually felt Ada’s hands on her skin again, felt the longing tightening hotly in her breasts at the simple closeness, the familiar comfort of being cared for by Ada.

Ada noticed the sudden stillness of her wife’s body and glanced up to make sure Hecate was alright—the burning look in those dark eyes, desperate and aching, made her forget the question that had been on the tip of her tongue.

Hecate’s fingertips curled against Ada’s palm, sending a tremor down her arm and gently bringing her back to reality. Clearing her throat, Ada waved a hand, calling Hecate’s desk chair next to the one Ada had been sitting in, just moments before. They both took a seat and Ada called forth a medical kit, wincing in sympathy as Hecate hissed at the antiseptic treatment.

In a moment of weakness, Hecate may have put a little more pressure on her hand, which was currently resting in Ada’s lap as Ada gently cleaned and bandaged the wound. She may have…let her fingertips sink a little deeper, into the softness of the skirt and the even softer body beneath. She heard Ada’s little breath in response, and her own body kicked off a chain reaction that seemed more befitting a hormonal teenager than a woman on the far side of fifty.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, once the final plaster was applied.

“Of course,” Ada cleared her throat again, as if those two simple words were almost too much effort.

“We should…”

“We should,” the blonde agreed with a quick nod of her head. She looked so small, Hecate could feel her heart break.

“Here.” With delicate hands, Hecate opened her palms, which were magically filled with a new tea mug, refreshed with peppermint tea. Ada felt an overwhelming need to cry as she gingerly took the mug with a watery thanks.

“I need to find Morgana,” Hecate’s voice was etched with regret, but her brows were quirked in worry.

“Of course,” Ada agreed. She took a sip of tea. It was sweeter than the cup she’d prepared herself earlier. She couldn’t help but smile at her wife’s silent token of affection.

That small smile, despite its sad air, was enough to make Hecate smile softly in return. She rose to her feet slowly, choosing to remain close to Ada as she whipped her hands around, sending her chair back to its place at her desk, and sending the rows of ingredients to the potions storeroom, where they would remain safe until the morning.

Ada rose as well, magicking her own chair away, and they left the lab side by side, quietly walking through the corridor, both desperate to hold on to just a few more moments together. Ada smiled as she thought of the early days, when they’d spend the evening talking about anything and everything, when Hecate would sometimes walk her to her private chamber door, with no intention of pushing past the threshold—no, she’d simply wanted a few extra moments of Ada’s company, and though they’d both agreed that something more was to come, she’d enjoyed simply getting to know the woman better, to simply have conversations where she didn’t have to shutter her feelings or hide the emotions shining in her dark eyes.

Hecate was thinking of the past, too, though a far more recent one—just before the start of this term, to be exact, the last time they’d walked the halls alone together, the whole castle practically to themselves. Right around the corner was a little alcove with even less light than the rest of the corridor, where Hecate had pressed a very willing Ada into the corner, covering her mouth to swallow Ada’s moans as Hecate’s hands had pushed up her skirt, entire body taut and trembling with a need that couldn’t wait. They’d been so tightly knit together that Hecate had nearly over-strained her poor wrist, trying to get proper movement in while still remaining pressed into her wife’s body as much as possible. It had been hot in the windowless corner, her dress beginning to cling to her skin as her temperature rose in response to Ada’s kisses, Ada’s little sounds of delight and encouragement, her own body’s reactions to being overwhelmed by every aspect of the woman.

“Thank you for the tea,” Ada softly broke into her reverie.

“It was the least I could do, considering the circumstances,” the brunette returned dryly. With a slight frown, she reached out with her magic, searching for her familiar. “I’m afraid this is where I leave you, Ada. Pleasant rest.”

Ada merely nodded in understanding, watching as Hecate transferred away.

* * *

Morgana was pacing through the library, her tail still flickering in agitation. Hecate slowly approached her, using their telepathic connection to push out feelings of safety and calm. Morgana stopped, turning to her with a small, questioning _mrrowl?_

Hecate gingerly sank to her knees, her heart aching at the sight of her dear little kitten (who hadn’t been a kitten for ages, but who would always be such in Hecate’s view), looking up at her with such wide eyes, so full of worry and fear. “Come here, little one.”

Morgana obviously heard the forgiveness in her mistress’ tone, because she easily padded over, butting her head against Hecate’s open palm and rubbing against it. Hecate didn’t try to pick her up. Instead, she let her hands stroke the length of Morgana’s spine, lightly pulling at her fluffy tail. In no time, Morgana was purring, clambering into Hecate’s lap from more. Hecate scooped her up into her arms, pulling the cat into her chest and nuzzling their noses together. Morgana lightly tapped her paw on the side of Hecate’s nose, a small little token of apology.

“It’s alright,” Hecate assured her. “You were frightened, I know.”

She could feel it, when Morgana had attacked Pendle. White hot fear, beyond comprehension. Fear and rage, incandescent and overpowering.

With a small breath, Hecate bowed her head, pressing an image of Pendle into Morgana’s mind. It was an image of him, right before Hecate had transferred Morgana into the room. She felt her cat’s small body stiffen in response.

Morgana’s internal response shocked Hecate to the core.

_Destroy, destroy, destroy. Icky, evil, death—annihilate._

Hecate sat back, holding Morgana up to fully look into her face. Even with her less-expressive feline features, Hecate could see the determination burning in her familiar’s eyes.

“Morgana,” Hecate could feel the shock in her voice, the horrified tone perfectly betraying her emotions. “Morgana, how could you?”

_Death. Evil. Annihilate_. Morgana didn’t waver in her response. Her tail was flicking again, slow and full of deadly intent.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered.

_Not right_. Morgana agreed. Then, with a quick little shimmy, she wriggled out of Hecate’s grasp again, plopping onto the floor. She took a beat to simply look at Hecate—Hecate could feel the push, could feel Morgana trying to explain, to tell her something, but whatever it was, Morgana didn’t have enough language to express.

With one last baleful look, Morgana quickly trotted away. Hecate let out a low, deep breath, feeling some measure of relief in knowing that at least for tonight, Pendle was safely out of Morgana’s reach.

However, that did nothing to quell the shaking in her legs as she rose and transferred back to her chambers. She considered transferring Morgana into the room with her, but honestly, she wasn’t sure that she wanted her near. She hadn’t confined her familiar since before having her spayed (not that containing Morgana had been successful—the cat somehow still escaped her carrier and still ended up delivering a litter two months later, though Hecate found herself unable to be too upset, particularly when the kittens were such adorable replicas of their mother). Given Morgana’s current emotional state, it didn’t seem like a promising idea—Hecate had shed enough blood for the evening, thank you very much.

What a curious place to be—afraid of your own familiar.

The thought prickled something at the back of Hecate’s brain. She stilled her entire body, so close to an answer that she felt as if she were physically on the cliff’s edge. It danced and wriggled out of her grasp, frustratingly close.

She _knew_ the answer, knew it in her bones. She just couldn’t fucking _remember_ it. She bit back the urge to shriek in frustration at her brain’s sluggishness, at her own ineptitude.

Her hands came up to press into her forehead, pushing further back to outline her bun, pulling slightly, just enough relieve the pressure building in her skull.

But no amount of abuse or coaxing could pull the answer out. With a low growl, she snapped her fingers, letting down her hair and changing into her night gown. Another sigh, and she transferred Morgana into the room as well.

The cat gracefully jumped into the chair beside the unlit fireplace, watching her mistress with a bored expression.

Hecate simply stared back, contemplating another attempt at communication, to find out what the hell was going on with her familiar—eventually, she decided against it, feeling too exhausted already. Instead, she turned on her heel and went into the bedroom, leaving her robe at the end of the bed and slipping beneath the covers with another soft sigh of regret.

Within a few seconds, she felt the slight tug on the comforter, the light scratching sound of Morgana climbing her way up, onto the bed. Hecate felt more than she heard her familiar’s approach. Morgana brushed close to Hecate’s face, as if gently trying to determine just how upset her mistress still was.

As usual, Hecate found herself unable to stay cross with her little bundle of chaos. She reached out, wrapping the cat into an embrace. Morgana burrowed closer into her, purring contentedly.

When Hecate woke, hours later, she was surprised to find Morgana still nearby, curled up on the pillow next to Hecate’s head, still awake, keeping vigil.

Hecate couldn’t remember the last time Morgana had stayed with her all through the night—it was usually the cat’s time to run wild. Granted, she had been confined, but normally she would at least be skittering around the sitting room, playing with some toy or bauble she’d knocked off Hecate’s desk.

Somehow, the thought that her familiar had spent the night watching her sleep wasn’t a comfort at all.

* * *

Morgana was weaving around Hecate’s ankles as she prepared for the day, nearly tripping her as she moved to open the door to her chambers.

“I’m sorry,” Hecate truly meant it. “But you must stay in today.”

_Safe_. Morgana’s little paw gingerly reached out, claws hooking just enough to tug at her skirt.

“Yes, you’re perfectly safe in here,” Hecate reassured her.

Morgana tugged again, more insistently this time. _No. Safe_.

Hecate’s mind received a flash—of herself, still fast asleep, from Morgana’s point of view atop the pillow. _Safe_.

Hecate suddenly understood. She knelt down, offering her familiar another ruffle behind the ears. “I’m perfectly safe, too.”

Morgana sat back on her haunches, her front paw resting against Hecate’s kneecap. _Safe. Here._

Again, Hecate was able to extrapolate—Morgana was trying to say that Hecate needed to stay in this room, where it was safe. Where Morgana could keep her safe.

“And out there?” Hecate nodded towards the still-closed door. “Safe?”

_No_.

Well, she had to admit, her cat wasn’t wrong in that assumption. With a light sigh, Hecate tried to explain, “I have to go out there, kitten. But I promise, I will be very, very cautious. As always.”

Morgana made a little chirp, as if she wasn’t assuaged by such promises.

The bells chimed, calling everyone to breakfast.

“I’m sorry,” Hecate whispered regretfully. “I really must.”

She was smart enough not to try opening the door. Instead, she transferred away, feeling a tug at her heart for the way Morgana’s paw tried to catch her, to pull her back, to keep her safe.

Hecate transferred to just outside the dining hall, ducking her head and giving herself a moment to blink back the tears that had unexpectedly sprung at Morgana’s pitiful little pleading episode. Like her mistress, Morgana could be a bit of a high-strung worry wart, but for the most part, she was like any other cat, generally unimpressed and uninvolved in the human affairs of the castle. Her emphatic desire to shelter Hecate was rather out of character, much like her actions the night before.

“Everything alright, Hecate?” Romula Rinewater’s voice was both a slight shock and a definite disappointment.

“Yes, of course, Miss Rinewater,” Hecate straightened up, flicking her hands down the front of her skirt.

“Goodness, what happened to your hand?” Of course, Romula noticed the bandage.

“Something unfortunate,” Hecate replied curtly. Inwardly, she added, _Much like this entire exchange_.

With a slight nod of dismissal, she pushed her way through the double doors of the dining hall, clipping her way through the rows of tables and benches to the teacher’s table, where Ada already sat.

The blonde gave a small smile at Hecate’s approach, ducking her head slightly to hide it. Hecate easily took her seat, leaning in to quietly ask, “And how’s Pendle this morning?”

Ada frowned slightly, “Last night, he seemed perfectly calm. Almost…too calm, given what had happened.”

Hecate gave a small hum of understanding. Pendle and Morgana had been wary of each other, upon first meeting, but they’d never been aggressive—Morgana’s attack must have been just as much of a shock to Pendle as anyone.

“But then, this morning,” Ada tilted her head slightly at the memory, her blue eyes filled with worry. “He was quite shaken. He didn’t want me out of his sight. I decided that he should stay in ou—my room, for the day. At least until I was certain that Morgana was…”

Ada trailed off, not wanting to offend Hecate. A familiar was a precious thing, and Hecate’s bond with her cat in particular was something akin to motherhood. However, Hecate didn’t look offended—merely uneasy.

“That’s the thing,” Hecate said quietly. “I don’t think she’s…better. She didn’t want me to leave my rooms, either. And her animosity towards Pendle—it’s quite intense, Ada. I’m not sure why or what could have caused it, but…it’s shocking, to say the least.”

Hecate glanced down, almost as if ashamed of her familiar’s actions. Of course, Ada understood—after all, Ada adored Pendle as much as Hecate did Morgana, so she could easily imagine how horrifying it would feel, to have your familiar attack the familiar of someone you loved.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Ada agreed, keeping her voice as low as possible as her blue eyes flicked around the room, watching the girls file in for breakfast.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” Hecate returned. Then she cleared her throat and projected loudly enough that the entire dining hall boomed and echoed with her disapproval, “Lucinda Eaglewing, _control_ yourself!”

The student in question practically jumped out of her skin, twittering into a calmer, albeit blushing, state. Ada ducked her head again, lips twisting into a wry smirk. She couldn’t help herself—her wife was rather adorable, when playing the role of feigned indignation.

“And control _yourself_, Ada Cackle,” Hecate murmured again, not even bothering to glance at the blonde. “Last thing I need is having my authority undermined by a fit of giggles from the headmistress.”

It took every ounce of self-control for Ada to bite back a cheeky retort, one that normally would have her bent over her own desk at the next possible opportunity. Still, Hecate must have sensed the unspoken reply, because she merely gave a slight shake of her head, _Woman, what am I going to do with you?_

“I take it that you didn’t finish your potion, last night?” Ada easily switched the subject, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“No,” Hecate admitted, frowning slightly. “But soon.”

Ada understood the rest: _Soon, and be ready when I do._

* * *

_Soon_ was after lunch, during Hecate’s free period. Ada was on her way to the staff lounge when her deputy lightly called her name. She turned to see the woman clacking down the corridor towards her, paper in hand. “Miss Cackle, could you look over the supply list for next week’s order?”

“Of course,” Ada frowned slightly. This was a bit ahead of the curve, even for Hecate. And usually supply lists were handled during their morning meetings. Granted, Hecate had missed this morning because she was busy with her potion—Ada’s blue eyes blew wide with sudden understanding. She eagerly took the paper. It was a supply list, but the moment she touched it, the words disappeared and another missive, in Hecate’s familiar scrawl, appeared.

_Hold still. Don’t move at all, _read the note. Ada obeyed. Hecate was still holding onto the paper, too, her eyes locked onto Ada. A strange sensation rippled over her skin—then Hecate shifted slightly, stepping outside of herself, pulling Ada further to the side as well.

Ada turned to glance at her own doppelganger, who was simply nodding along in agreement with something that Hecate’s double was saying about supplies as well. Ada recognized the secondary ripple of an invisibility spell over her skin. She looked back at her wife with a breathless smile, “Rather clever, my dear, even for you.”

Hecate probably would have blushed, if she had the time. But she was far too worried—the pained fear on her face as she reached for Ada made the blonde want to cry.

“Are you alright?” Hecate’s hands were clutching Ada’s, thumbs rubbing over skin, desperate to touch, to comfort, to protect.

“Of course, love,” Ada was equally desperate to reassure and soothe. Her hand disengaged from Hecate’s, reaching up to stroke her wife’s face. Hecate shifted, turning her head slightly to press further into Ada’s palm, closing her eyes briefly. Blinking back hot tears, Ada simply pulled her closer, enveloping her into a hug as she spoke, her words slightly muffled by Hecate’s shoulder, “I spoke to Miss Gimlett, yesterday afternoon. The greenhouse spells didn’t go off, which means no one else came in there—but someone definitely put some kind of spell on the plants. She took out one of the seedlings and did a little testing. She thinks it was some kind of listening spell.”

Hecate breathed out a low curse. She had gratefully returned Ada’s embrace, keeping her wife firmly in her arms as she gently admitted, “That only confirms the suspicions I’ve been feeling recently. I don’t think they’re after you—they’re after _us_.”

Ada made a small sound of knowing agreement. “I’ve been thinking the exact same thing. I suppose it was only a matter of time, really—after everything, perhaps Hellibore has finally realized some level of the truth.”

Her wife’s incredulous snort implied that she didn’t particularly believe in the Great Wizard’s deductive skills. Still, she quietly asked, her hand lightly stroking over Ada’s shoulder blade in a reassuring rhythm, “What do we do?”

“What we do best,” Ada took a long, shallow breath to steady herself. “Press on, despite it all.”

Hecate’s firm kiss atop her head was agreement enough.

“Now that I know what to look for,” the deputy headmistress shifted slightly, pulling away from Ada just enough to make eye contact. “I’ll examine our secondary meeting locations. Make sure they’re not compromised.”

Ada nodded. Her wife, ever the planner, always had back ups in place. Still, Ada had to wonder aloud, “I still…I just don’t know how the greenhouse was compromised, so soon.”

“Maybe it was always part of the plan to place listening spells,” Hecate suggested, though not convincingly. Then, she frowned, “Did…Gimlett say if there was anything else amiss, in any of the other greenhouses?”

“I’ll find out,” Ada promised.

Hecate gave a curt nod of agreement. Her dark eyes slid over to their doppelgangers. “Now we have about a minute until the script I worked into their spell runs out. I suggest we use our time wisely.”

Ada’s response was purely nonverbal, as her mouth was already completely covered by Hecate’s. She held on tight, feeling completely at the mercy of the whirlwind kiss, at all the emotions that came raging to the fore at the simple act of connecting with Hecate again, the way they were meant to be.

However, all too soon, Hecate was pulling away, keeping her forehead tilted against Ada’s as she tried to control her breathing again.

“I have to go now,” her tone was tinged with such regret, such longing, shaking from both the ferocity of their kiss and the emotional toll of having to say goodbye, yet again. With a wry quirk of her lips, she intoned, “I have to teach Mildred Hubble how to save us all.”

Ada chuckled at the irony. She stepped back, taking Hecate’s hands in her own again and trying to blink back the tears—though given the glisten in Hecate’s eyes, she wasn’t alone in her desire to cry.

“I love you,” she told her wife. Hecate’s expressive eyes welled anew. Instead of verbally replying, she merely dipped her head, brushing a kiss across Ada’s knuckles. Then, with one last regretful look, she shifted back into her doppelganger, pulling Ada back into her own as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final scene was inspired by a drabble I wrote for the Hackle Drabble Tree (https://marvellouslymadmim.tumblr.com/post/184681978001/welcome-to-the-hackle-drabble-tree).
> 
> In fact, that little drabble is basically responsible for this entire HSTC storyline. So...there's that.


	6. Chapter 6

Morgana was distressed, again. Hecate could feel the tug on their connection, could feel the worry from her familiar. She replied with a reassuring push of her own, feeling the intensity of Morgana’s worry lessen immediately in response.

It had been like this, all day. Hecate gave a small sigh, focusing on the stack of papers in front of her. It felt cruel, not letting Morgana roam free, not letting Morgana be with her, be reassured by her presence. Especially since, despite all of Morgana’s odd behavior, the poor kit had only tried to protect Hecate.

“Everything alright, Miss Hardbroom?” Mildred Hubble piped up. She was currently seated at her work station in the potions lab, serving out yet another detention. Although this one was actually real. She’d failed her practical exam, rather spectacularly, given the billowing black smoke that had erupted from her cauldron, turning the lab into a modern day Pompeii. Hecate had berated her soundly for her carelessness, and had assigned detention—with the task of remaking her potion, this time without burning it.

Hecate couldn’t help but feel another pang of regret. Mildred had been distracted, but she had every right to be, these days. What with all the pressure and responsibility Hecate had placed on her young shoulders. The accident was just as much Hecate’s fault as Mildred’s.

“As right as it can be,” Hecate drawled in return, looking up from her marking. “How goes your potion? I’m not seeing any smoke, a marked improvement from your previous attempt.”

Mildred ducked her head, smiling softly at the quip. HB used to terrify her. After four years, though, Millie had learned how to detect when she was teasing, in her stilted way, and to better comprehend her bone-dry sense of humor.

“Well, it’s not done yet,” Millie admitted. “So there’s still plenty of time for me to catch the whole place on fire.”

Miss Hardbroom merely hummed, arching a single brow. The corner of her mouth curled upwards, ever-so-slightly. Mildred counted it a victory. With a bigger smile, she returned her focus to her work. She’d only get partial credit for this, seeing as she’d completely failed the first go-round, but that wouldn’t stop her from doing her absolute best.

Hecate simply watched the young girl for a few moments. Mildred had always been a bright thing, even if she wasn’t always the most logical—then again, logic and forethought were not the hallmarks of childhood decisions. But she was creative, which could be a very valuable trait, if she pursued a career in potions. After all, it took a lot of imagination to look at all the potions previously created, and somehow figure out something new.

Like that doppelganger potion she’d made, just this morning. It was a modification of an old potion—to create a double that also only followed a script, using an enchanted object (in this case, the supply list) that did the work of separating and rejoining, without requiring the participants to drink the potion itself. The witch who’d created it was a rather clever thing, Hecate had to admit (though Hecate had tweaked it, just a bit, only minor corrections to make it more effective).

The thought of doppelgangers pulled at something in the back of her mind. This time, she realized what it was: a line from the instructions her future self had given Ada, when her wife had traveled into the future in an attempt to figure out how to navigate the present.

_No one is who they seem, not even yourself, not even those most familiar to you. _Hecate’s brain roared to life with the sudden understanding.

_Familiar_. She’d been trying to warn them about the familiars, was that it?

Her sudden upright jolt had startled Mildred, who was watching her with cautious eyes. With a slight wave of her hand, Hecate motioned towards the cauldron, “Focus, Mildred Hubble. I shan’t have another mess in this lab today.”

Mildred turned her attention back to her work, which really was about to boil over. This time, she turned down the burner, Hecate noted with a dash of pride. _Learning from her mistakes, good_.

_Not right. _That’s what Morgana had told her, last night. Had she been trying to say that something wasn’t right with Pendle?

Hecate rose to her feet, informing Mildred, “I shall return shortly. I expect the building to still be standing when I do.”

Mildred merely nodded. Hecate transferred away.

She’d barely materialized in her own quarters before Morgana was at her feet, meowing in relief. Hecate scooped the cat into her arms and clipped over to the wingback near the fireplace, settling her familiar on her knees and tilting her head forward slightly, her dark eyes focused intently on Morgana’s face.

She pushed an image of Pendle into Morgana’s mind. This time, an image from months ago—Pendle sitting atop Ada’s desk, basking in a ray of sunshine.

Two emotions immediately began to war in Hecate’s chest: warm affection and distressed concern.

With a small breath, Hecate pushed another image of Pendle into Morgana’s mind. The one she’d used last night.

Morgana’s response was the same as it was the night before: searing rage and a wish to destroy.

_Not Pendle?_ Hecate guessed.

_Evil. Bad. Not._ Morgana agreed. If she’d possessed a human face, she’d be absolutely scowling right now.

_Where?_ Hecate returned to the image of the real Pendle.

This time, she was bombarded with flashes of sight and sensation, all too quick and disjointed to make sense.

“Slow down, little one,” she cooed, smoothing a hand over the soft dome of Morgana’s head. But Morgana’s confusion could find no clarity. After a few more attempts, Hecate decided to stop—it was obvious that continuing would only be torture for her sweet kit. She sank further back into the chair, pulling Morgana into her chest again and sending more feelings of calm and safety into her familiar’s mind.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, bestowing a small kiss atop Morgana’s head. “You’re quite the best of cats, you know.”

Morgana’s satisfied purring was confirmation enough. Hecate stayed there a few minutes more, soothing her cat and letting her mind tug at the question of why someone would want to imitate a familiar. While she trusted Morgana, there was still a possibility that the cat was simply confused, even if she was dead-convinced that her confusion was truth. Cats were not the most self-reflective creatures. What was to gain, from taking Pendle away, from pretending to be him?

She suddenly understood. As the events of the past week flew through her mind, her dread only grew.

* * *

“Miss Rinewater, as it is only Monday, I’m afraid I don’t have anything new to report since our meeting on Friday,” Ada kept her voice as congenial as possible, though her nerves were certainly wearing thin. Thankfully, she was seated at her desk, so that Miss Rinewater couldn’t see her fists clenching in her lap.

Even though she knew the true reason for Miss Rinewater’s presence, she still found it overbearingly annoying. Completely unnecessary, even for her actual purpose.

“I understand,” Romula smiled sweetly, having enough good grace to look a bit chagrined. She shifted in her seat, across the desk from Ada—where Hecate usually sat, whenever they went over supply lists or budgets. “I do have to ask, though. It is my job, after all.”

“Of course,” Ada conceded.

“By the way, what on earth happened to Miss Hardbroom’s hand?” Romula changed the subject so abruptly that Ada had to sit up, blinking as her mind hurried to catch up. Sensing Ada’s confusion, Romula clarified, “Her left hand. I noticed this morning that it’s bandaged. But it wasn’t yesterday.”

“Ah, yes.” Ada wasn’t sure how much to tell. If anyone had walked in on them last night, in Hecate’s lab, it would have looked perfectly innocent. But somehow, casually mentioning that they were still up, together, at such a late hour, seemed…too heavy with implication. She chose the safest route, “I’m not…sure.”

“Really? She didn’t mention it to you?” Romula’s head cocked to one side, her curiosity shining out of her eyes like a beacon.

“No, I mean—I’m not sure I should be telling anyone the reason behind the injury.” Something in Romula’s gaze made Ada falter.

“Why?”

Ada fought the urge to roll her eyes. Because hadn’t she just said she couldn’t tell? However, she simply sighed, “I think she might…find it a bit embarrassing.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. For someone as intent on keeping a straight-laced appearance as Hecate, having an out-of-control familiar _would_ be embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that happened to young witchlings, not full grown, fully powerful witches.

Truth be told, that was the most distressing part about last night. How disconnected Hecate and Morgana had been, how visibly it had shaken Hecate, which had terrified Ada in turn.

Romula seemed appeased by her answer. The odd light in her eyes quelled.

The anxious feeling in Ada’s stomach did not.

* * *

Mildred had perfectly brewed her potion by the time Hecate returned. Even before she took an experimental taste, Hecate could tell it was well made, just from the hue and the scent. Her stomach was still tightening under the stress of her recent revelations, but she was trying to pace herself, trying to remain calm, to find the right response without making a mistake. So she forced herself to focus on the moment at hand.

“Seeing as I can only give half-credit for this attempt, Mildred Hubble, you’ve scored fifty percent,” she sniffed, after reversing the effects of Mildred’s potion. She turned on her heel, pointedly ignoring Mildred’s little fist-pump of victory. 

Yes, a fifty was a failing grade, Millie knew, but it meant that, had this been her first attempt, Miss Hardbroom would have given her a perfect hundred. Nothing could dampen her delight.

“Mildred,” HB turned slowly back to her, her face etched with concern. There was a softness in her tone, one that Mildred wasn’t used to hearing. “Earlier today, your distraction….”

“I just left the burner on too high,” Millie supplied, understanding what HB had wanted to ask. “Not because of anything else.”

“And you’re…sure?” HB’s eyebrows lifted, only slightly. Her expression was still so soft and hesitant that Mildred almost felt afraid.

“Absolutely certain, Miss Hardbroom,” she gave another nod, rising up on her toes, just a little.

“Good,” the potions mistress nodded as well, her expression melting in relief.

“Do we have time for another lesson?” Mildred asked (she already knew they did—detention was meant to last an hour, and her potion had only taken forty minutes). Still, Miss Hardbroom checked the time as well, even though Millie knew that she was equally aware of the remaining time.

“I don’t know,” Hecate admitted quietly, frowning at the clock. Twenty minutes, she couldn't waste twenty precious minutes when she could be spending that time working towards unraveling the mystery of Pendle's doppelganger and possibly saving him. “I have—there might be a change in plans, Mildred.”

“What sort of change?”

Miss Hardbroom’s jaw tightened, her gaze remained fixed at the opposite end of the room. “I’m not entirely sure yet.”

Then, she turned her attention back to Mildred, offering something akin to a smile. “Go. Enjoy your afternoon, Mildred Hubble.”

Despite the small wave of disappointment, Mildred put away her things and hurried out, still excited to find her friends and catch up on whatever adventures they’d had while she was busy.

Hecate simply paced around the lab, fingers lightly playing with the watch around her neck. She needed to speak to Ada, which meant first ensuring their other meeting places weren’t compromised.

The first location was the old aviary, from the days when Cackle’s had actively used carrier pigeons, before the invention of maglets rendered them obsolete. The gatehouse tower had a battlement at its top, where the now-abandoned roost stood. The shed created a blind to block any curious onlookers from the main castle, and the height and angle of the parapets on the outer wall ensured no one could see anything from outside the castle, either.

Even though it had been years since they’d kept pigeons, the smell still lingered, Hecate noted with a wrinkle of her nose.

_Safe_. Morgana tugged at their connection again, her worry much more muted but still palpable. Hecate realized that perhaps now, she could assuage Morgana’s worries as well as her own guilt over keeping her cat cooped up all day—and truth be told, the revelation about Pendle made her want to keep her own familiar as close as possible. She transferred the cat into her arms, giving her a moment to adjust to her surroundings before gingerly dropping her onto the stone floor of the tower, which was littered with dead leaves and old feathers.

Morgana daintily picked her way through the debris, obviously not a fan of the locale. Hecate smirked. Then she returned her attention to the task at hand. Pushing out her arms, she began weaving the spells necessary to bind the place into a haven. Morgana watched from the corner of the parapet, her gaze darting around the sky, as if she could see the magic rippling through the air.

Once the necessary spells were in place, Hecate gave a soft sigh. Not as cozy as the greenhouse, but still safe, and that’s what counted. It felt good, to be actively doing something. 

“On to the next,” she patted her hip, waiting for Morgana to come. Her familiar trotted over, choosing to sit at her feet rather than climb up her skirt, as she normally did. Hecate rolled her eyes, bending down to take Morgana into her arms. “Lazy thing.”

Those words would have been much more effective if Hecate’s tone hadn’t been so soft, or if she hadn’t punctuated it with a little squeeze of affection.

The second location was the broom shed. Hecate immediately felt uneasy—this was Dimity’s domain, and it felt wrong, casting her own spells here, especially without seeking permission first. But Dimity had already been aware that her shed was on the back up list, so it wasn’t _entirely_ without permission, Hecate reasoned. Still, she’d have to tell Dimity, as soon as she could. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Hecate used her magic to check for any other binding spells. There wasn’t anything surprising, just the usual protective spells to keep out thieves and to keep the girls from taking brooms outside of the permitted hours. Plus one of Dimity’s spells to keep out mice and insects, thus protecting the integrity of her beloved brooms.

Within minutes, the shed was knit with her magic as well. Hecate felt a swell of satisfaction. _Done_. She and Ada had options again. They were safer than they had been, a few hours ago.

“Come along now,” Hecate opened the door to the shed, waiting for Morgana to dart outside. “I think you could use a nice walk. On the condition that you won’t go attacking other familiars, no matter what.”

She pushed a thought into Morgana’s mind. _Obey_.

Morgana’s response was odd, frazzled, but somewhat affirmative. Almost…groggy. Completely at-odds with how alert she seemed, in the moment.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. In fact, the last time—also the very first time—had been just last week, when she and Ada were walking back to the academy, after their bittersweet interlude in the greenhouse. She’d tried communicating with Morgana, who was in her arms, but the connection had felt odd, distant.

_No one is who they seem._

The thought landed like a knife in Hecate’s stomach, sharp and unexpected. She stared after the cat who was currently walking across the lawn at a leisurely pace.

With a sudden flash of absolute certainty, Hecate knew that whoever—or whatever—that thing was, it wasn’t Morgana. Her knees turned to jelly, her hand slapping out to catch herself on the doorframe of the broom shed. She wanted to scream.

Someone had her baby.

Hecate pushed wildly at the familiar connection, trying to get a response from Morgana.

Nothing.

_Kitten, kitten, where are you, my little one?_

Again, nothing. The cat in front of her kept walking, completely oblivious. Any doubts Hecate might have had over the possibility of familiar doppelgangers were completely destroyed.

Now, Hecate truly understood the words Morgana had tried to tell her, the night before: _Destroy, destroy, destroy. Icky, evil, death—**annihilate**._


	7. Chapter 7

Ada felt herself being pulled into a transfer spell, and with a flush of delight, she realized it was Hecate’s magic wrapping around her, whisking her away.

However, when she arrived at her destination, her delight immediately dissipated. They were at the abandoned aviary, and Hecate was frantic, psychotically so.

“Ada, Ada—the familiars, they’re somehow—someone has Morgana, they’ve taken her—I think—oh, she’s not answering anymore, I can’t—” She stopped herself, choking as she gasped for air. Her hands were like vises on Ada’s shoulders, fingernails digging painfully into Ada’s flesh. Her eyes were wild, brimming with tears.

“Hecate,” Ada disengaged from her wife’s grip, firmly keeping her hands around Hecate’s wrists and pulling her arms down, as if physically trying to tether the woman. “Hecate, please—”

“We have to find her. We have to find her _now_.”

“And we _will_,” Ada spoke more forcefully this time. It was enough to snap Hecate out of her hysteria, though only slightly.

“And Pendle!” Hecate wavered again, voice pitching high and desperate. She dipped her head, “I’m sorry, I know—I know, I’m not making sense, I’m sorry, I just—I can’t—if someone—”

A sob ripped through her throat, hard and sharp. Still, she rushed to apologize, “I’m sorry, Ada, I’m—”

This time, her words were interrupted by Ada, pulling her into a crushing embrace. What little strength Hecate had left crumbled entirely and she sobbed into her wife’s shoulder, entire body skittering with fear and adrenaline. She was exhausted, and empty of any sense of control or reserve anymore.

“Let it out,” Ada encouraged her, voice gentle and reassuring as she held on, never lessening her grip in the slightest. She still wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew that until Hecate calmed down, nothing else could be done. She’d just checked on Pendle, not half an hour ago, so she doubted he was in any danger. Still, she pushed against her connection, feeling his affirmative response. Yes, he was fine.

Hecate, however, was not. Ada continued trying to soothe her, “Let it all out, and then we’ll get to work.”

Hecate made a small, wet noise that could be construed as agreement. The force of her sobs had already lessened, though her shoulders were still shaking as she cried, pressing herself further into Ada for comfort and support. Then Ada felt her melting, the tension finally leaving her body.

After a few more beats, Hecate began to quieten, sniffling as she shifted back, pulling away from Ada’s embrace. Her face was mottled and messy, a faint red line across her cheek from the knit of Ada’s sweater, where she’d pressed so deeply and desperately into Ada’s shoulder. She delicately rimmed her eyes with her fingertips, a small action that made Ada realize just how deep and dark the circles under her eyes were. It wasn’t a surprise that Hecate hadn’t been sleeping well, but given her outburst, it concerned Ada all the more.

“We have to find them, Ada.” Hecate’s voice was still wobbly with emotion.

“I know,” Ada returned simply. Gently, she admitted, “I just reached out to Pendle. He’s fine, Hecate.”

Her wife’s face scrunched in confusion, trying to process the information as she gave a small shake of her head. Ada felt a wave of fear in response. Had Hecate’s paranoia and anxiety finally become too much to bear? Had she been hit with a spell, a potion to make her act recklessly, to make her an easier target for the Great Wizard’s machinations?

“He-he’s back?” Hecate reiterated.

“Yes.” Honestly, Ada didn’t think he’d ever left, but she wasn’t going to argue that point with her wife just yet. Gently, she prompted, “Try reaching out to Morgana again, just to be sure.”

“Ada, I _have_ tried. I haven’t _stopped_ trying since I realized she was gone.” The irritation in Hecate’s voice was palpable. “But she’s just…gone. And there’s another cat who looks like her and pretending to be her but it’s _not_ her.”

A tremor ran down Ada’s spine. It didn’t make sense. Hecate wasn’t making sense. If Hecate was having trouble connecting to Morgana, there could be a larger issue at play—a problem with Hecate’s magic, one that could be affecting her emotionally as well, convincing her that her familiar wasn’t her own.

The younger witch made a small, shivering sound, almost a sob, as her fist pressed against her mouth. Then her dark, wet eyes looked back to Ada as she quietly said, “I know it sounds crazy. I know it does. But—I’m not.”

Ada took a small, uneasy breath. Then she nodded. She still trusted Hecate, beyond anyone else. Her wife might be overreacting or just plain mistaken, but those fears and suspicions were usually rooted in some source of truth, and once Hecate was calmer, she could piece it all together.

Hecate wasn’t crazy. But she was distraught. And she needed Ada to help, needed Ada to be the calm and rational one, needed Ada to believe her and simply be there.

“Alright,” Ada took a step closer. “Time to call in the troops.”

Hecate blinked, obviously confused.

“I’ll take Dimity, you take Gwen and Algie. One group starts at the towers, the other at the basement. We’ll search every nook and cranny, and meet in the middle. We’ll find her, Hecate.”

Her wife merely nodded, the doubt in her eyes still evident. Ada rubbed Hecate’s upper arms reassuringly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, my dear. But first things first—let’s find Morgana.”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, their colleagues immediately agreed to help, and soon the search was under way. Hecate didn’t dare try to transfer Morgana to her, too afraid that the imposter would be in her arms instead.

That was where Mildred and Indigo were brought in—they were placed on familiar watch, keeping an eye on both Pendle and the faux-Morgana, ensuring neither cat was aware of the ongoing search. If anyone thought the situation was ridiculous or over-blown, they thankfully kept their opinions to themselves. For that, Ada was deeply grateful. The final puzzle piece was Miss Gimlett, keeping an eye out for Miss Rinewater, who was conspicuously missing (and despite Ada’s doubts regarding Hecate’s allegations, she felt a prickle of intuition at that little detail).

Hecate, Algie, and Gwen had cleared the eastern tower when the sound of footsteps echoed loudly in the stairway, heavy breathing reverberating harshly against stone as Indigo Moon’s voice called, “HB, HB!”

Hecate immediately transferred farther down the steps, stopping right in front of Indigo and halting her upwards dash.

“Morgana—or whatever it is—she just vanished!” Indigo was practically wheezing (after all, she’d run up quite a few flights of stairs).

“What?”

“I was watching her—trying to keep my distance, like you said—and she turned down a hallway and just—disappeared!”

Hecate blinked rapidly, her mind whirring as it processed the new information. With a slight frown, she reached out again, checking the connection to her familiar for what must have been the thousandth time since her epiphany.

This time, something stirred in response, weak and confused. Hecate pushed further, trying to locate exactly where the response was coming from. The connection strengthened, and she transferred away.

She was in the library. Morgana was curled up on an ottoman in front of the empty fireplace, looking impossibly small and fragile. Hecate hesitated a moment, almost too afraid to make a move.

Still, she quietly whispered, “Kitten?”

_Safe?_ Morgana’s groggy response nearly shattered Hecate completely. She hit her knees, leaning in to wrap her arms around her familiar, burying her face into the soft, warm fur.

_Safe,_ she reassured the cat, her own body shaking in relief. The tears that flowed were softer, grateful. Every muscle in her body seemed to unknit itself, leaving her weak and drooping.

Morgana wriggled beneath her, slowly becoming more alert as she began nuzzling against Hecate’s temple.

Hecate was too exhausted to even jump at the warm hand, lightly pressing between her shoulder blades.

“There, there,” Gwen Bat’s voice was calm and soothing. For some reason, it only made Hecate want to cry harder. “Is she alright?”

Hecate merely nodded.

“Good. I’ll let the others know we’ve found her. Then I think it’s time we all sat down and had a good, long talk.”

Gwen was gone before Hecate could respond. By now, Morgana was shifting, forcing Hecate to sit back as the cat rose to her feet, stretching and shaking her whole body before nuzzling against Hecate’s face again, almost as if trying to dry her witch’s tears with her fur.

“What happened?” Hecate asked, trying to push the question into Morgana’s head. It was hard to conjure an image for such a question.

Morgana tried to show her, but it was a fuzzy blur. It was as if a chunk of her memory was missing completely. Hecate rubbed away the rest of her tears, frowning as she tried to piece together what few sensations Morgana had been able to convey.

Hecate tilted her head, accepting Morgana’s attempts to lightly paw at her nose, sandpaper tongue trying to smooth the space between Hecate’s brows. Morgana could obviously still feel Hecate’s distress, because she kept pushing against the connection, reassuring Hecate: _safe, safe, safe. Safe now_.

“I know,” Hecate told her. “I know.”

Her whole body felt achy and tired, after being wound so tightly by fear and stress. She felt the pull of a summoning spell and she rose to her feet, taking Morgana with her as she transferred to wherever the spell pulled her.

She looked around, eyes trying to adjust to the dimness—she was in one of the completely empty cellars of the basement, surrounded by Ada, Dimity, Algie, Gwen, and Dena Gimlett. Ada was at her side in an instant, hand at the small of Hecate’s back, moving in tiny, comforting circles.

“Is this…safe?” Hecate glanced around. The room seemed abandoned, but she wasn’t sure that she could trust anything, at this point.

“Probably,” Gwen informed her. “But I’m not taking the chance.”

With a flourish of her hand, the chanting instructor produced what looked like a sheer, shimmering veil. She gave a quick motion, “Well, on you go.”

Dimity was the first to walk through, though her expression still held a heavy dose of uncertainty. She passed through the rippling curtain, disappearing entirely. The others exchanged quick looks of surprise (Algie and Gwen being the exceptions, of course), and then followed suit.

Ada took a small breath before walking through, blinking in surprise at what awaited her.

They were still in the cellar, but…it wasn’t the empty cellar anymore. It was a beautiful indoor courtyard, with a burbling fountain and giant pots of heavy fronds, with vines climbing up the walls, bougainvillea blooming across the ceiling in clusters of golden yellow and bright fuchsia. The room was far lighter, as if the sunlight was streaming through unseen windows.

“H…how?” Hecate breathed, obviously impressed. Morgana was shifting as well, paws on Hecate’s shoulder to steady herself as she pushed further up, looking around curiously. The sunlight dappled across Hecate's shoulder and Morgana's little paws skittered to catch it, tail swishing delightedly.

“A parallel space spell,” Gwen informed her. “This has been my little getaway for many a winter.”

Ada could tell that Hecate was already making plans to find such a spell. Her wife’s fascination had been caught, there was no way she wouldn’t pursue this, as soon as she got a chance.

“Now,” Gwen waved the veil away, effectively enclosing them in the space. “We’re entirely safe. No one can find us, no other spells can be cast over this space, because, technically, it doesn’t exist, except when I allow it to.”

“And you couldn’t have shared this little trick with us earlier?” Hecate drawled, arching a brow.

“Well, I assumed it wouldn’t be necessary, and it’s always good to keep a few secrets for yourself, my dear,” Gwen returned easily. Hecate merely shrugged, unable to argue with such logic (and truthfully, far too grateful to argue). Gwen clasped her hands in front of her, looking at the rest of the assembled company, “Now, I think it’s time that Miss Hardbroom tells us exactly what’s going on, and then we can figure out a way to help.”

Hecate nodded in agreement, clearing her throat as she stepped forward, lightly stroking Morgana’s fur as she spoke, “I began piecing it together, earlier today.”

She looked over at Ada. “I told us—my future self told us—not to trust anyone. _No one is who they seem, not even yourself, not even those most familiar to you. _Right?”

“Right,” Ada confirmed.

“Future self?” Dena Gimlett piped up, confused.

“Ada went into the future to see if she could figure out how to handle this,” Dimity supplied. Dena hummed in understanding. Dimity felt an odd measure of pride—apparently HB had told her something that she hadn’t told the others, which meant she was trustworthy in HB’s eyes, more of a friend than most. It was a silly thing to be proud of, but Dimity didn’t care. She’d fucking _earned_ it.

“It was right in front of us, the whole time,” Hecate continued, shaking her head. “That night—remember, when Romula stayed the night, a few weeks ago?”

Everyone nodded.

Hecate focused solely on Ada, “Our familiars got upset—”

“_Morgana_ got upset,” Ada corrected.

“Yes, exactly because—well, I still don’t know exactly why, because she couldn’t tell me. She was…drugged, almost. She’d been frightened, absolutely terrified, but she couldn’t show me what had happened. Her memory was…distorted, fuzzy, I don’t know, it practically wasn’t _there_.” Hecate ducked her head, lightly squeezing Morgana closer to her, as if silently reassuring herself that Morgana was alright now, safe again in her arms.

“Pendle acted groggy, too,” Ada pointed out. Her stomach began to tighten with dread. Hecate’s theories were beginning to feel more concrete. Gwen had already told everyone about Indigo seeing Morgana disappear, only for Hecate to finally be able to access her familiar connection again.

“The same thing happened just now, when I found her in the library. She couldn’t tell me what had happened, during the time she was missing.” Hecate informed them. The others exchanged uneasy glances. Hecate turned her attention to Dimity, “When we went to the greenhouse, the night you told me about the mirrors. No one was around, right?”

“Right,” Dimity nodded in agreement. “And they couldn’t have seen us—we transferred in and transferred out.”

Hecate held Morgana in one arm, using her free hand to motion between Ada and Dimity. “And when you two went to the greenhouse, to talk about the Great Wizard’s card?”

“No one,” Ada answered. She glanced over at Dimity, who nodded in agreement. “We were very careful.”

“Which leaves you and I,” Hecate surmised, keeping her gaze on Ada. Her eyebrows lifted meaningfully as she continued, “After we left—who was the only one to see us afterward—the _only_ one, human or familiar?”

“Morgana.”

“Morgana,” Hecate confirmed. Her familiar looked up, slightly confused as to why she was being called when she hadn’t done anything. Hecate stroked her fur reassuringly. The wheels of her mind were whirring at top speed, piecing it all together as she continued, “And do you remember—I tried to find out why she was so far from the castle, and you asked me if everything was alright.”

“Yes,” Ada remembered clearly. After all, it was only a few days ago. “And you said yes, but—”

“But I was lying,” Hecate finished for her. “I was lying, because I wasn’t sure what was happening. I tried communicating with Morgana at the time, but it was muddled. Like…being underwater and hearing someone speaking to you from the surface.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Algie piped up.

“It doesn’t.” For some reason, Hecate sounded oddly triumphant at this. “Unless she wasn’t there at all. And something else _was_.”

Dread dropped like a stone in Dimity’s stomach. “Like what?”

“Try _like who?_” Gwen suggested. “A shapeshifting spell isn’t that difficult.”

“The thing is,” Hecate’s eyes were wide and searching, latching onto Ada’s gaze with uncertainty. “Last night—I _know_ that was her.”

“What happened last night?” Algie asked.

“Morgana attacked Pendle,” Ada answered. There was a small ripple of shock around the room. Not every cat got along, but it was common knowledge that Ada and Hecate’s familiars were as friendly as their witches.

“I tried to find out what happened, afterwards,” Hecate continued. “Our connection was clear as a bell. And she tried to tell me, but I didn’t understand at first, not until this afternoon. Last night, she attacked Pendle because…because it wasn’t him. Whatever it was, she was trying to destroy it.”

“But…” Ada felt the earth shift beneath her feet. “But my connection to him is fine. Just this morning, he was—”

“Last night, did you try to talk to him?” Hecate interjected quickly.

“A little,” Ada admitted. “But by the time I got back to my room, he was already half asleep. You know how he gets when he’s sleepy—"

“Sleepy, or drugged?” Hecate persisted. Ada didn’t answer right away, so she continued, “You said yourself, this morning, that he seemed oddly calm last night, given what had happened. And that he was more worried this morning—perhaps once whatever spell or potion he was under worn off, he remembered enough to be concerned.”

Dimity’s face scrunched in mild confusion, “Are you saying that someone—or something—is swapping out your familiars, at random times, putting them under some kind of trance or drug, pretending to be them, and then popping them back into place, without anyone noticing?”

Hecate took a deep breath. It was still a bit hard to fathom, even with her own unwavering certainty. Morgana shifted a bit in her arms, and her certainty returned. She knew she wasn’t crazy—whatever that thing had been before, it wasn’t her baby, and now her kitten was back in her arms.

“Well, we’re noticing it now,” Hecate countered lightly. Her voice became lower, surer, “And it isn’t random. It’s only at times and places where another human being would be too noticeable.”

She glanced over at Dena. “When you checked the greenhouse alarm spells, you ascertained that no one else had been in there.”

Dena nodded in confirmation.

Ada suddenly understood, gasping slightly, “When we set the spells, we only concerned ourselves with humans. We didn’t put any restrictions on _non_-humans.”

Absolute certainty hit Ada like a tidal wave. She no longer doubted her wife’s claims, not in the slightest. While the familiar connection was always open and available, it wasn’t something they used that often. If she truly considered it, there could be large swaths of time in which Pendle’s authenticity—or Morgana’s—would not be questioned, or tested.

“It wouldn’t be hard for a cat—or someone shapeshifted into a cat—to slip inside the greenhouse at all,” Dena conceded.

“But…would they be able to cast a spell, while in cat form?” Algie was hesitant. During his rather long and unfortunate tenure as a frog, his magical abilities had been naught.

“A cat wouldn’t need to cast a spell, if it used a potion instead,” Dimity pointed out. “It could probably manage quite easily with a task like that. Cats have excellent long-term memories.”

Hecate spoke up, “Regardless of the finer points, I think, ultimately, it comes down to the determination of the witch doing the shapeshifting.”

Everyone took a beat to simply exchange long glances. They all knew exactly which witch it was, and those who’d been around when Romula Rinewater was a student remembered all too well just how determined she could be.

Hecate pressed her lips into a thin line, dark eyes filled with worry, “I’m afraid both of our back up locations are compromised. But we can use it to our advantage. I’ll visit both sites tomorrow, and every day for the next few days, to see if I can sense any outside spells that might be added. If I’m right—”

“Then we’ll see the same kind of thing I noticed in the greenhouse,” Dena finished. Hecate gave a curt nod of agreement.

Ada took a shaky breath, “Then…how do we meet?”

Hecate’s entire body winced. “I think…we can’t.”

There was an uneasy shifting as everyone realized the implications. It wasn’t anything that anyone wanted.

Hecate stood a little straighter, forcing herself not to dwell on the thought. “Which means we need to go over our signals and code words. Let’s try to restrict communication to as much nonverbal prompting as possible. So far, aside from the mirrors, it seems more about what they hear, rather than what they see.”

“Bloody hell,” Algie murmured, leaning in to Gwen slightly. “I’ll be glad when we’ve caught this old goat at his own game.”

Hecate still heard, because her mouth hitched into a smirk. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Well, before we catch a goat, we’ve gotta catch a snake,” Dimity piped up. She glanced around the room, “We all agree that Romula’s the shapeshifter, right?”

“I think we’d know if someone else was on the grounds,” Ada spoke. After last term, she and Hecate had strengthened the protocols on the academy’s security spells. She turned her attention to Dena, “Did you ever actually see Miss Rinewater, during our search for Morgana?”

Dena shook her head. Ada’s lips pressed into a thin line as she quietly admitted, “She left my office, maybe half an hour before Hecate realized the truth about Morgana.”

A quick round of discussion proved that no one else had seen the woman since.

“Now that Morgana’s back, I’m sure we’d find her, easily enough,” Dimity pointed out. Hecate hummed in agreement. The flying instructor continued, “And you said Morgana attacked Pendle last night—when was that, exactly?”

“Late,” Hecate supplied. “Very late. Everyone else was tucked up in their rooms.”

“So, no corroborating witnesses on her whereabouts then, either,” Dimity mused.

“The night we met in the greenhouse,” Ada looked back to Hecate. “Miss Rinewater was supposed to be visiting the bookshop in town. Did anyone _see_ her leave?”

Again, no one could offer an affirmative answer.

Hecate cleared her throat gently, “I think it’s time we paid much closer attention to Miss Rinewater’s movements.”

Algie actually raised his hand to ask, “And what happens when we _do_ have proof that she’s behind all this?”

* * *

Once everything was sorted, Gwen called forth the shimmering veil again, motioning for everyone to exit. However, she held up her hand to Ada and Hecate.

“I think you two still have a few more things to discuss,” she arched her brow meaningfully. Then, quietly, she added, “Fascinating thing about these parallel rooms—it defies space, and, with the right spells, it can defy time, too. You could be gone for hours, and no one would ever notice.”

With a pointed look at Ada, the time witch, and one last small smile, she stepped through the veil.

“That woman truly is more devious than we give her credit for being,” Hecate commented, eyebrows still lifted in surprise.

Ada laughed in agreement. She stepped forward, lightly ruffling the fur atop Morgana’s head. “I’m glad it all turned out alright.”

“For now,” Hecate conceded. They’d already agreed that no one could expose the familiar swapping just yet—they needed to pretend obliviousness, to allow Romula and the Great Wizard to think their plan was going perfectly. They’d just have to keep closer tabs on their cats, so they’d know when it was a impostor or the real familiar. Still, she worried that maybe, one day, Morgana wouldn’t come back. Or maybe it would be Pendle who didn’t return. Neither option was bearable.

It didn’t help that through it all, they’d both be faced with more time apart, as if their current situation wasn’t untenable enough.

“We can still meet. We still have your doppelganger spell,” Ada reminded her softly, easily reading the sadness in her wife’s expression.

“We do,” she agreed gently. “But even that should be used as infrequently as possible.”

Ada ducked her head, her logic fully agreeing but her heart crying out against such an idea.

“When this is over,” Hecate’s voice was heavy, thick with emotion. “I will make up for _every_ second of it.”

Her hand came out to delicately cup Ada’s chin, thumb brushing against the corner of Ada’s mouth, currently turned downward. “I promise, Ada.”

“I know you will,” Ada answered simply, bringing her eyes back to Hecate’s. “And I promise, I will, too.”

Now Hecate was smiling softly, her gaze drifting down to her thumb, which was slowly slipping over Ada’s bottom lip. Ada’s chest tightened in anticipation, leaning in slightly, just enough to encourage Hecate to lean in as well, meeting her in a kiss.

Morgana wriggled, giving a small sound of discomfort at being pressed between the two witches. With a light laugh, Hecate stepped back, letting her familiar jump to the floor before coming back to her wife. Now that both hands were free, Hecate let them explore her wife’s curves for a few moments, relishing the way Ada shifted further into her grasp, mimicking her movements on Hecate’s body as well.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” Hecate warned, keeping their mouths close.

Ada stifled a sigh of regret, knowing her wife’s point was all-too-valid. Instead, she exaggerated her pout. “I’m adding this to the list of things you’ll have to make up to me later, Hecate Hardbroom.”

Her wife gave a soft huff of amusement. She kissed Ada’s forehead, accepting the terms. “Come along. We’ve been gone long enough. I don’t want to compromise Gwen’s private getaway. She’s earned it.”

Ada hummed in agreement, stepping through the veil. Hecate came out as well, Morgana in her arms once more.

“All good?” Gwen asked, looking at them expectantly. Everyone else had already dispersed.

“I think _all good_ won’t be until this is all over,” Hecate pointed out, not unkindly. Gwen sighed in agreement, waving her hands to make the shimmery veil disappear once more.

“That’s quite a feat, Gwen,” Ada nodded to the empty air, where the veil had been.

“Please try not to sound _quite_ so surprised at my abilities,” the older witch sniffed, her haughtiness mainly feigned.

Hecate ducked her head with a smirk. Ada chuckled as well. Gwen allowed herself a long, slow smile.

“Hang in there, duckies,” she said gently. Her fingers lightly brushed under Hecate’s chin, as if she were tilting it back up. “It’ll come out right again, just like before.”

“Keep an eye on your familiars,” Hecate warned in return. It was as close to _stay safe_ as she could muster, as emotional as she’d let herself get now. Gwen had already seen her as a collapsed crying wreck today, no need to add to that image.

“A unique risk, attempting to imitate a witch’s familiar,” Gwen mused, slowly walking to the door. The headmistress and her deputy followed. “What with the communication connection and all.”

“True,” Hecate agreed.

“Unless, of course, you hadn’t considered it,” Gwen continued. “Because you weren’t necessarily aware of it.”

“Romula attended Cackle’s. She had a cat, at least once in her life,” Ada pointed out.

“Yes, but she was a student then. Her connection would have grown, as she and her cat grew together, and as her own abilities and skills increased,” Gwen held up her hand, index finger punctuating her point. “Except Romula didn’t take up another familiar, after her Cackle’s cat, which unfortunately had a very short life span, once she left the academy.”

“How do you even know that?” Hecate asked, more than a little impressed.

“Because,” Gwen stopped to smile patronizingly over her shoulder at them. “While you two were focusing on the problem, I was focusing on its creators. _If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles_.”

Noting their shocked expressions, she added, “Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_. A rather clever book, if you ask me. I learned quite a lot from it—and used those lessons, more than once, during my diva days.”

“And those lessons…were they successful?” Hecate couldn’t help but ask.

Gwen held her hands open, looking like the benevolent goddess herself. “Who’s standing here now—me, or my enemies?”

Ada and Hecate merely raised their eyebrows. _Message received_. With one last smug smirk, Gwen turned and continued down the dark corridor.

“Should we…” Hecate’s voice was low, still lined with incredulity. “Should we be terrified of her—at least, just a little bit?”

“I think that would be wise, yes,” Ada nodded quickly.

Hecate’s hum of agreement was tinged with amusement. She reached out, gently taking Ada’s hand in hers as they stepped out, into the darkness, together.


	8. Chapter 8

Poor Morgana, who initially had been just as concerned about the situation, soon grew tired of her witch’s constant check-ins. By the next day, she resorted to simply following Hecate around, lazing across her desk or the tops her feet in absolute boredom.

Sometimes, Hecate would still test the familiar connection. Just to be sure, just to be safe.

Morgana would not respond via connection. Instead, she’d simply sit up, giving her mistress a long, irritated look.

Having her bratty minion back only made Hecate smile. Yes, this one was hers. No doubt about it.

Across the castle, Ada was doing the same. It had been three days since Hecate's revelation, and Ada had lost track of the number of times she'd reached out to Pendle, making sure he was really himself. Once, while handling some mirror calls with various council members, she realized the cat curled up in the windowsill of her office was not her familiar. But as soon as the calls ended, that Pendle trotted away and lo and behold, a few minutes later Ada was able to access her connection again and call a very groggy Pendle into her lap.

The idea of constantly having to perform, even in moments when she was supposedly alone, did not sit well.

Just something else to add to her expanding list of _things I do not like but must currently endure_, she mused dryly. Despite Gwen’s assurances that the mirror monitoring spells only worked when the mirror was being used to call someone, Ada had resorted to ensuring she always dressed by magic, one quick snap of her fingers. And her nightgowns and robes became remarkably more conservative. It was all she could do, not to simply place a black sheet over her mirror. Thankfully, Pendle was used to roaming free at night, which meant he didn’t seem to notice that she absolutely never let him stay in her rooms at bedtime. The idea of Romula watching her sleep was far too creepy—or worse yet, pilfering through her things, possibly finding some irrefutable proof of her true relationship with Hecate.

Then there was the matter of Hecate. Constantly in Ada’s line of sight, always just outside her reach. At breakfast and morning meetings, brushing past in the corridor or seated next to her on the podium, eyes always slipping away from Ada’s, hands always clasped neatly in her lap. One evening, Ada had looked down from her office window to see Hecate slowly walking through the learning garden, fingers trailing over the various plants absentmindedly. Her skin had ached with how deeply she wanted to be there, beside her, walking in the cool evening air and talking about everything and nothing. Ada had turned her attention to the rosebush Hecate was walking past, her magic pushing it to bloom spectacularly. Her wife had stopped, surprised and momentarily perplexed, then she’d turned back to the castle, dark eyes immediately scanning the windows and finding Ada’s form easily enough. Even at that distance, Ada could see the soft smile on Hecate’s features, felt the reassuring warmth of Hecate’s magic, gently tugging at her. Hecate had taken a single rose from the bush, and later that night, Ada had found it on her pillow, quietly waiting for her.

Ada had wondered what she’d ever done, to earn a place so perfectly wrapped up in this woman’s love. And she wondered how long it would be, before she could feel that sense of safety and joy again.

For now, she had to focus on other things. Once Pendle returned her query with a reassuring pull on their connection, Ada ducked her head and went back to filling out yet another set of forms for the spring term grants. She reached a section that would need further documentation from Hecate, and she glanced up at the clock, trying to determine exactly what her wife was doing now—it was just before lunch, which meant nearly the end of her period with the fifth years.

Ada generally wasn’t one to resist temptation, when it came to Hecate Hardbroom. Despite their current situation, this was no different. She gathered up her paperwork and quietly transferred to the little alcove outside the potions lab.

Even with the door closed, Ada could make out the sounds of Hecate’s lecture. The soft, slow cadences as she offered some final words of warning and advice—she must have ended on a quip, because there was a gentle ripple of laughter from the girls. Ada could picture Hecate’s little self-satisfied smirk in response, could imagine the girls learning forward in rapt attention. Warmth blossomed in her chest. Yes, this was worth it all, worth the worry and the fear and the long nights alone. They’d built something beautiful here, in a place that had not held the softest of memories for either of them. They couldn’t change their pasts, but they’d taken the pen and firmly wrote their own present, and in doing so, wrote a better future for all the girls who followed. They had triumphed, and they would continue to do so. It was simply who they were.

Chairs scraped and books fluttered closed. The door swung open, and students began to trickle out, giving slight nods and low greetings when they spied Miss Cackle, who smiled warmly in return.

A few students stayed behind, asking some follow up questions, which Hecate answered with a brisk but not unkindly air. Ada hung back, still smiling as she listened in. Once the last girl had finally left, Ada slipped closer, leaning against the doorframe to watch her wife tidy up her desk for a few beats before gently clearing her throat.

“Oh,” Hecate jumped slightly, blinking in mild surprise. “You’ve become quite the cat, Ada. I didn’t hear you sneak up.”

The mention of cats made Ada glance around the room. Sure enough, Morgana was stretched out precariously across the window’s narrow ledge, oblivious to the world as she basked in the sunlight.

Ada merely grinned. She held up her paperwork in explanation, “I need the itemized lists for the spring grant.”

“Of course,” Hecate made a slight motion that could be construed as beckoning Ada closer. The blonde moved further into the room, coming to stand at the edge of Hecate’s desk.

“Here we are,” Hecate opened her desk drawer, pulling out a folder. Ada knew she’d probably been working on the list during the small breaks between classes, ever the diligent deputy. Hecate took a beat to open the folder and scan the list, double-checking before giving it to Ada. Quietly, she added, “I’m a bit surprised, Miss Cackle—you usually don’t even consider looking at the spring grant forms until after Samhain.”

Ada fought back another grin at the teasing edge in her wife’s words. “Well, I’ve had a lot more free time on my hands lately. I thought I should probably put it to good use.”

Hecate hummed in understanding. “I’ve found gardening to be particularly relaxing.”

“Really?” Ada wasn’t surprised, but she did want this soft little moment to continue.

“It’s nice,” Hecate ducked her head, voice pushing even lower. “Just…you and your thoughts, busy building things that will later bloom into something quite beautiful.”

Now it was Ada who could merely hum in response, feeling a familiar flutter at the unspoken promise in Hecate’s words. Finally, she found her voice, “Yes, that does sound quite lovely.”

Hecate merely nodded, shifting slightly. Her entire body was set in a regretful air, “We should get to the dining hall, before…”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ada agreed. She transferred all her paperwork to her desk before letting Hecate transfer them both to the dining hall, where they went back to being distant and unattached.

* * *

“Mildred’s been a bit edgy lately, hasn’t she?” Dimity Drill remarked, keeping her voice low enough that only the other teachers heard. Her fingers tapped lightly against the table as she glanced across the dining hall, where Mildred Hubble sat, wearing a particularly unhappy expression.

“Today’s Thursday, isn’t it?” Gwen returned easily, not looking up from her lunch. “Thursdays are always tough.”

Everyone else exchanged slightly confused glances, but went back to their lunches without remark. That was the way of crazy old Miss Bat, after all. Mr. Rowan-Webb deftly changed the topic to the lovely fall foliage that had finally arrived, and he and Miss Gimlett discussed possibly taking the girls on a nature hike next week. Very few people noticed the way Algie’s finger also tapped away on the table.

Inwardly, Ada smiled. It was a rather simple code, one she and Hecate had developed years ago. A nonverbal trigger (Dimity’s finger tapping), plus a question, framed with the code word first (_Mildred_), confirmed by another question, with the response word first (_today_), with a final nonverbal trigger to close the loop (Algie’s finger tapping). It was the easiest pattern to follow, particularly when a larger number of people were involved.

They’d agreed to this plan, just three days ago, when they’d gathered in Gwen’s parallel space hideaway. Hecate had met separately with Mildred since then, as had Miss Bat. Dimity was merely confirming, for the benefit of all involved and aware, that things were still set according to plan.

Now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

“Mildred Hubble!” Miss Bat thundered, marching down the hall. “You get back in this classroom, this _instant_!”

“Or what?” Mildred whirled back around, braids whipping with the force of her anger. She held her arms open, as if challenging the older woman. “What are you gonna do, you old bat?”

“How _dare_ you!” The chanting mistress rose to her full height, eyes wide with shock.

By now, the remaining fourth years were crowded around the door of the chanting classroom, pushing against each other to get a better view of the spectacle. A few teachers had also appeared in the doorways of their own classrooms, faces lined with caution and concern at the raised voices and vehement tones.

“How dare _I_?” Mildred shot back. “I’m not the one telling lies. Every word out of your mouth is absolute—”

“Mildred!” Miss Bat practically shrieked.

Suddenly, Miss Hardbroom appeared in the hall, black clouds ominously swirling around the bottom of her skirt as her voice thundered and boomed into the rafters. “What on earth is going on?”

“She’s spewing hatred and lies!” Mildred jabbed her finger in Miss Bat’s direction. With a sassy tilt of her head, she added, “Although I suppose that makes it just another day at Cackle’s Academy for _Witches_.”

“Miss Cackle’s office. Now.” Miss Hardbroom didn’t wait for a sign of agreement. With a theatrical flourish, she whisked Mildred and Miss Bat away, along with herself.

“Alright, everyone,” Dimity Drill stepped into the hallway, casting meaningful glances at the nosy teachers still gaping outside their doors. “Show’s over.”

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she walked down the hall to Gwen’s classroom. “So much for a free period.”

* * *

Once safely inside Miss Cackle’s office, Millie and Gwen exchanged a quick fist bump.

“Not bad,” Hecate acquiesced.

“I messed up a line,” Mildred admitted.

“You ad-libbed it quite beautifully,” Miss Bat assured her. “Quite excellently done, all in all.”

“It will definitely have tongues wagging,” Hecate agreed. Mildred was still looking up at her with a sense of expectancy, so she simply nodded and placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. Mildred beamed as if she’d been handed the moon.

From her seat at her desk, Ada grinned as well. Mildred was a rather good actress, and Gwen had more than enough theatrical experience, and Hecate…well, Hecate was one of the most dramatic people she’d ever met. The three witches made a good team. Ada’s smiled deepened as she realized the picture they painted currently: the goddess herself, maiden, mother, crone, three divine beings wrapped up in one mission.

It seemed like a sign—a good one, at that.

Hecate was checking her watch again. She’d swept Ada’s office several times this morning, making sure there weren’t any other spells installed to monitor them. Despite her constant attempts to reassure herself over the past three days, she felt constantly watched and monitored. However, she had been rather pleased when she returned to both of their meeting places, only to find that someone else’s magic had been added to her spells. She planned on using that to her full advantage.

Of course, they first had to get through the current part of their plan. Wordlessly, she produced two pieces of paper—one she gave to Mildred, the other she kept for herself.

Ada fought back another smile at the way they both ducked their heads, focusing on their papers. She knew that Hecate and Mildred had worked on this script themselves, during one of Mildred’s supposed detentions. It was an absolute shame that she couldn’t see them in action herself, but they all had their parts to play.

Hecate stopped scanning over her lines to check her watch again, giving a quick glance at Gwen, who nodded in understanding before huffing out the door, putting on an angry display for anyone who might be out in the hallway.

The deputy headmistress looked over at her student, quietly asking, “Any last questions or concerns?”

“None,” Mildred shook her head, giving Miss Hardbroom a reassuring smile.

“If you do forget a line, try not to get _too_ outrageous in your ad-libbing,” Hecate suggested, arching her brow slightly.

“Of course, Miss Hardbroom.”

“There will be other ears listening,” Hecate reminded her. She knew that Mildred knew this, and yet…she felt the need to say _something_, and that seemed as good a comment as any.

Ada piped up, offering a smile of her own, “Mildred will do just fine, Hecate. You both will.”

Hecate looked up, her expression melting slightly in response to Ada’s smile. Mildred caught the little exchange, and her suspicions were further confirmed (sure, Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle _might_ be just friends, but Mildred certainly didn’t smile at _her_ friends like that).

Mildred hadn’t really noticed it, in the years before. But then again, she’d been such a child then—she was fourteen now, almost an adult, really. She noticed more things like that. She _understood_ those things.

The idea made her happy. Miss Hardbroom and Miss Cackle, dating. Or…at least _wishing_ they were dating, kinda like her mum and Miss Drill. Not that she’d ever ask for clarification—her relationship with Miss Hardbroom might be on better terms now, but she was still fairly certain the woman might take her head clean off for asking such an impertinent question.

“Now,” Miss Hardbroom’s arched and affectedly-bored tone broke into her thoughts. “I believe it’s time. Shall we?”

Millie simply nodded, feeling herself being pulled into a transfer spell with Miss Hardbroom. She spared one last glance at Miss Cackle, who was still smiling encouragingly their way.

In a blink, Millie and Miss Hardbroom were standing outside the broom shed. Miss Hardbroom simply took a moment to look at her, eyebrows lifting in unspoken questioning. _Ready?_

Millie gave a small, curt nod. Miss Hardbroom took a small breath, then whipped her hand out at the door to the shed, which flew open with a loud clatter.

“It'll take forever to clean this place up!” Mildred looked around, eyes wide with shock as she stepped into the broom shed.

“Then I suggest you get to work,” Hecate drawled, over-enunciating in her usual Miss Hardbroom way. “I shall be back to check on your progress, but for now, I think I’ve wasted enough time on errant students.”

She whisked herself away, leaving Mildred to grumble and sigh as she began organizing the shed.

* * *

“That Mildred Hubble,” Gwen Bat shook her head, sinking into her favorite chair in the staff lounge. “Is becoming _quite_ the handful.”

“She’s fourteen,” Dimity Drill pointed out, not looking up from her magazine. “They’re all handfuls, at that age.”

“What happened?” Romula Rinewater was practically on the edge of her seat, face lined with curiosity. She’d already heard snippets of the situation—in fact, the shouting had caught her attention, all the way in the library. There had been some whispers in the hallway, between periods. Still, it would be good, hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth.

Miss Bat launched into her story, peppering in plenty of moaning about the fate of witching society, with such impudent young women coming to the helm. Dimity spared at quick peek at Romula, whose eyes were practically shining in delight.

When Miss Rinewater excused herself from the room, Dimity and Gwen merely exchanged knowing glances. They waited a full beat after the door closed.

"Well," Gwen settled further into her chair, looking particularly smug. "I think the Great Wizard is going to be quite pleased with his latest report."

* * *

Mildred was wiping away tears by the time Miss Hardbroom reappeared.

“Mildred Hubble, showing remorse?” Miss Hardbroom’s tone arched incredulously.

“No,” Mildred returned stubbornly. She shifted slightly, turning away from the potion mistress’ gaze.

There was a sullen, heavy pause. Then, gently, barely loud enough to be heard, Miss Hardbroom said, “I told you, Mildred. You’ll never belong here.”

It was just a script. Just words. Just play-acting. Still, Hecate’s heart stung. Because she’d said this, before. She’d meant it, before. She’d willfully been cruel to this child, before. She still wasn’t sure that she truly believed in atonement (after all, it didn’t matter what you did afterwards, because the damage was already done—she knew better than anyone the way a child could forgive but still always feel the wounds), but how she wished such a thing were possible. Wished there was a way to undo it all, to undo so much of herself and her past actions.

She let herself reach out, lightly placing a hand on Mildred’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure what her own gesture was meant to convey—wasn’t sure entirely what she felt, in this moment—but it felt right, somehow.

Quietly, achingly, she added, “They’ll never see you as anything more. It’s been four years now, and look what it’s gotten you.”

“Nothing,” Mildred returned, her voice low and brimming with anger.

“Nothing,” Hecate agreed. She could feel Mildred’s frame shaking beneath her hand. She had to admit, this child was a far better actress than she’d realized—and she’d been quite impressed with Mildred’s ability before this.

“I’ll _make_ them see,” Mildred vowed.

“Will you, now?” Hecate’s voice was calm, a tad patronizing.

Mildred turned to look up at her, and Hecate felt a flash of shock at how vehemently the young girl’s features furrowed. “I _will_, Miss Hardbroom. Just you wait.”

* * *

Hecate took one look at the Great Wizard’s face, and all her suspicions were confirmed. He already knew about Mildred Hubble, and he’d only just answered her mirror call.

“Ah, Miss Hardbroom,” he was so smug, so aggravatingly smug. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

She merely arched her brow, pretending to be surprised. “I…I believe they might be, soon.”

“I must admit, I had great doubts over your assertion that you could bend the Hubble girl to your will,” he gave a small, slow nod. “But you’ve done well, Hecate. Quite well, indeed.”

Despite his praise, his eyes still held a wary edge. He seemed to be searching for something, as he scanned her face. “And Miss Cackle?”

This time, Hecate didn’t wait for him to expand. “She’s concerned about Mildred’s behavior, naturally, but you know how she loves a good lost cause.”

He smiled at that. Then, easily, he asked, “What happened to your hand?”

Hecate’s heart stopped. He shouldn’t know about her hand—it was currently in her lap, out of sight. The only way he could know about her injury was if he’d been informed of it by someone else.

No prizes for correct guesses on that one.

Again, the strange look in his eyes made Hecate hesitate. Why would he possibly want to know?

_It’s much easier to live in truth. _Her own words came back to her—the same words she’d uttered to Dimity, the day they went to polish their brooms in the broomshed. Taking her own advice, she merely dipped her head and murmured, “My familiar…got a bit upset with one of the other cats. I intervened.”

She glanced back up, half-afraid to see his reaction. However, he was smiling, nodding in approval.

Whatever the test was, she had passed. Still, the idea that she was being tested in the first place didn’t sit well with her.

“You’ve done quite well, so far,” the Great Wizard sat up slightly, obviously getting ready to end the call. “Keep us informed of any new developments.”

“I will, Your Greatness.” _Except you’ll already know them before I tell you, with your listening spells and your mirror monitoring._

The call ended. In what was becoming a near-constant habit these days, Hecate reached out for Morgana, feeling a measure of relief at the immediate response from her familiar.

Morgana assured her verbally as well, with a small chirping sound from the bedroom, where she was currently sprawled across the covers. Hecate smiled softly.

However, it shifted to a frown as she looked down at her still-bandaged hand. The bite mark was healing nicely enough, but she still kept it wrapped—the skin wasn’t fully recovered, and she wasn’t taking any chances with a stray drop of potion. It had happened four days ago, but she hadn’t spoken to the Great Wizard since then. Which meant Miss Rinewater had to have told him.

While it didn’t surprise her that Romula Rinewater was in more frequent contact with the Great Wizard than she was, Hecate couldn’t quite figure out why her injured hand was such a source of speculation.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she contemplated.

Time to talk to Ada.

* * *

It was strange, how a simple object could become such a source of delight. For example, when Ada saw her deputy walking up to her with a concerned look and a piece of paper, her heart leapt with joy.

This time, she didn’t have to wait to read the paper’s warning. And she didn’t have to wait for Hecate to show her what to do, stepping aside as her doppelganger continued on about the price of spring herbs in fall.

“What is it, love?” She took Hecate’s hands in hers, delighted for any kind of contact with her wife—they’d barely spoken, much less touched, in the past three days.

“My hand,” Hecate glanced down, clarifying. “My injury—has Romula asked about it? Or…mentioned it?”

“She did, on Monday,” Ada informed her.

“And…what did you tell her?” Hecate’s face was so fearful that it made Ada’s heart skip a beat.

“I…said that I knew what had happened, but that I didn’t think you’d like anyone knowing the truth. I said you’d be embarrassed.” Ada suddenly feared she’d made a mistake. “I just—I thought, she acted oddly about it, so I wanted to be truthful without being too—”

“No, no, you did the right thing,” Hecate whispered quickly. She drew the blonde in, kissing her forehead. “You did absolutely the right thing.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“The Great Wizard asked me about it, today. Except he shouldn’t have known about it.”

“Obviously Miss Rinewater told him.”

“Obviously.” Hecate agreed. “She even asked me about it, the morning after. I didn’t answer her, though—not that it mattered, since she was masquerading as Pendle at the time, which means that she already knew the answer.”

Not for the first time, Hecate felt a measure of satisfaction that Morgana had attacked Romula-disguised-as-Pendle. Now, she’d wished she’d let her familiar get a few more swipes in.

“She already knew, yet she asked both of us about it,” Ada reiterated. Her voice was lined with caution. “She wanted to see if we would tell the truth.”

Hecate nodded in agreement. It made sense—as Pendle, Romula had seen them talking. Ada had transferred her back to Ada’s rooms, after which Romula must have switched places with the real Pendle again. She could have wrapped herself in an invisibility spell, could have followed them down the hallway, could have seen the way they looked at each other.

She closed her eyes at the thought, _Oh, Hecate, you fool. You selfish thing, always wanting more, always pushing—you may have jeopardized everything, just because you made a simple, stupid mistake, because you let your guard down, even for a moment_.

“Hecate,” Ada’s hand lightly rested atop her arm. “Talk to me.”

“She knows,” Hecate admitted. “Or at least, she suspects. If she made herself invisible—if she somehow saw us, after—”

“We were just talking,” Ada reminded her. “Talking like friends would.”

“But I—I do not look at you, like a friend would, when I think we’re alone,” Hecate pointed out softly.

“No,” Ada realized, her heart sinking with worry. Quietly, she added, “Nor I you, my dear.”

She glanced up to see the pained expression on Hecate’s face, easily understanding the conflict—because she never wanted Hecate to look at her as simply a friend would, but she understood how important it was, for now.

“We told the truth,” Hecate took Ada’s hands back in hers, trying to find a shred of comfort. “And if Romula saw anything, it was just a glance—we didn’t say anything, didn’t _do_ anything untoward. A fleeting look could be easily misunderstood, misconstrued. We acted as if we had nothing to hide, and that has to count for something, in the Great Wizard’s eyes. He seemed…relieved, when I told him. Like it was a test, and I had passed.”

Ada simply shook her head with a sigh, “I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

Hecate’s reply was to wrap her wife into an embrace, holding on tightly. If faith were a palpable thing, then Ada knew it had been pressed into her skin, transferred directly from her wife’s body to hers. Granted, that wasn’t the only thing inspired by the firmness of Hecate’s embrace. Ada’s hands easily snaked around Hecate’s hips, slipping over the curve of her ass.

“Ada Cackle.”

“What? Is it my fault you’re wearing my favorite skirt?” Ada noted that despite her wife’s tone, the woman hadn’t moved in the slightest, except to dip her head further into Ada’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck.

Ada could already feel the pull of the spell, Hecate’s magic alerting them that they were running out of time—the script she’d created for the doppelgangers was almost finished.

Hecate’s fingers sank into Ada’s hair, directing her face upwards and into a fierce kiss. Ada whined into her wife’s mouth, already feeling the loss before it was even truly gone.

“What?” Hecate’s smirk was far too triumphant. “Is it my fault you’re my favorite?”

Ada gave her hip a light spat. “The list of things you have to make up to me is growing by the hour, Miss Hardbroom.”

Hecate merely raised her eyebrows as she purred, “Good. I do so love a challenge, Miss Cackle.”

If anyone were watching the headmistress and her deputy discuss the budget for the upcoming Halloween celebration, they might notice a sudden slight shift, in which they both seemed a little flushed and flustered.

But for once, no one was. And the two women gave nods of approval for the final numbers, and went their separate ways.

Hecate actually walked back to her potions lab, relishing the tight tug of her skirt at her hips, the pressure reassuring as she pushed her legs to stride as widely as they could under such confines. They’d dodged another bullet. Just a little while longer, and it would all be over. Just a few more breadcrumbs to leave, and the Great Wizard and Romula would be tripping up the garden path.

And then. Oh, _then_. Hecate Hardbroom could make them pay for what they’d done, to all the ones she loved. Her heart practically sang in anticipation.


	9. Chapter 9

Mildred Hubble was officially the worst student at Cackle’s Academy for Witches. She outright refused to properly apologize for her original outburst, which naturally caused tension between her and Miss Bat. She became reckless with her flying, her attempts to pull off stunts earning her more than one harsh reprimand from Miss Drill, who eventually had no choice but to call her mother.

On the particular days that Mildred tried such aerial acrobatics, if one knew exactly where to look, they might see Miss Hardbroom at the window of the highest tower, fingers twitching, ready to whip out whatever magical intervention might be necessary. And there was one incident that left Mildred’s fellow students scratching their heads over how she didn’t fall off her broom—it was as if an invisible hand (or spell) simply righted her again, making her steady and sure once more.

Miss Hardbroom, of course, would vehemently deny all of this.

Though it seemed that lately, she simply did _everything_ vehemently. She awoke feeling tense and agitated, and spent most of her day in the same state. Morgana had become thoroughly unhappy with the constant check-ins, and now, sometimes, she simply wouldn’t answer out of spite. This did nothing to help Hecate’s nerves.

Add in the fact that she was constantly worrying over Mildred Hubble’s well-being, while fielding a higher volume of correspondence with the Great Wizard, who was most fascinated with every step of her process, now. And then there was that damnable Romula Rinewater, watching her every move like a hawk.

Then, of course, there was Ada. _Ada_, who insisted on being so thoroughly herself all the time. Wearing the same perfume, the same soft dresses, the same adorable little cat flats. Walking exactly the same and talking exactly the same and absolutely torturing Hecate with constant reminders of all the things she wanted and couldn’t have.

Hecate found that playing her role of pissy, exasperated teacher to Mildred Hubble’s antics wasn’t much work at all. In fact, it was generally more truth than farce. One morning, she slammed a book on her desk, making little Sybil Hallow jump like a frightened cat—it was then that Hecate realized she had to find a way to better channel this restless, angry energy.

She’d meant it, when she’d promised to do better, to _be_ better, last term. Her old self would have stormed around, shrieking and cutting down students with vitriol and spite, unable to properly process her anxiety or any of its unpleasant side effects.

But that version was dead and gone. She’d left her by the sea, on their summer half-term trip to the Outer Hebrides. As poetic as it sounded, it was absolute truth. On the last day of their little vacation, Ada had quietly placed a large stone in her hands. Hecate had closed her eyes, visualized pushing all her past actions and regrets into the smooth, grey rock, and then, with a deep breath of finality, set the rock down on the shore.

_Regret can’t change who you’ve been, or what you’ve done,_ Ada had gently reminded her. _But it can shape who you are and where you’re going, for the better, if you let it, my love._

Ada had held her, had quietly reminded her who she really was—who she still really wanted to be, underneath it all—and Hecate had quietly thanked every star above that she’d somehow been given the miracle of this woman and her love. Then they'd walked back up the shore, hand in hand, heart in heart, in all things.

Hecate wouldn’t lug that old stone back here, back to the present. Fear was still there, her brain was forever hardwired to be anxious, and she was learning to honor that. But it didn’t mean that she had to let it rule her, let it make her do and say things she’d later regret.

It wasn’t a joke, telling Ada that she’d gotten more involved in gardening. It didn’t require quite the level of focus and precision as potion brewing, which was a plus—but it also forced her to be calm and methodical in her actions, to take a deep breath and reshuffle her anxiety or her anger into something quieter and more productive.

Granted, it was also an excuse to constantly go back to the last place she’d made love to Ada, the last place she’d truly been a wife to her wife, the last moment they’d had truly together. Like a pilgrim visiting a holy site, she returned to the greenhouse again and again, fingertips quietly running over the edge of the potting table as she went back to her latest project.

Miss Gimlett didn’t seem to mind the constant intrusion—especially since Miss Hardbroom generally only worked in the greenhouse at odd hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep. And though Miss Gimlett could sense that Hecate had been in the greenhouse, she didn’t actually see anything different or even mildly out of place.

Not that she’d ever judge Hecate for simply coming in to find peace and quiet. After all, she preferred the company of plants over people, too. They were never very complicated, and if one plant got too loud or annoying, it wasn’t anything a quick trimming couldn’t fix.

* * *

It had been over a week since Ada had spoken to her wife—well, at least beyond the basic conversational confines of their work. Twice now, she’d noted that Pendle wasn’t himself—both times during meetings with Hecate. Since the cat (or rather his imposter) was feigning sleep, Ada used nonverbal cues to inform Hecate, who merely nodded gravely and kept her words and looks guarded.

It was finally the weekend, which meant even more free time to worry and pine.

It didn’t help that Hecate had arrived at breakfast that morning in an obvious huff, the kind of lightly frazzled state that Ada could usually work to a mutually rewarding advantage. And she was wearing one of her looser dresses, reserved for weekends, whose neckline showcased her rather spectacular neck and a hint of her collarbones. Ada felt like pouting—it wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all to see her wife like this and be utterly unable to do anything but enjoy from afar through stolen glances.

It was nearly noon and she was still wallowing in some well-earned self-pity when her office mirror began to ripple and chime. Anxiety and aggravation warred beneath her skin as she recognized Egbert Hellibore’s blurry visage, waiting for her to answer.

“Well met, Your Greatness,” Ada dipped her head in greeting, looking back up to the mirror with a smile that she certainly didn’t feel. “What can I do for you today, sir?”

It wasn’t exactly terse, but the Great Wizard still didn’t seem pleased with her response (probably because she’d dared to direct the conversation, even in the smallest of ways—she wanted to roll her eyes at how fragile his ego was, even after all these years). “Seeing as we are now three weeks into the term, I thought it was high time I heard a report on your latest batch of students.”

He was talking specifically about the girls from non-magical families, Ada knew. After all, he'd never cared to check in any other year. Still, she blinked, feigning slight confusion, “Your Greatness, I assumed you _were_ receiving detailed reports from Miss Rinewater.”

Oh, did she know _exactly_ how detailed those reports were—and how they most likely focused more on her and Hecate than the new students.

“I am,” he conceded. “But I’d like to hear from you directly as well. Miss Rinewater remembers her time at Cackle's most fondly—”

Ada doubted that. Given what Hecate had told her, no one remembered Romula Rinewater’s student years fondly, Romula herself included.

“So one might expect a bit of harmless bias in her reports,” Hellibore offered a saccharine smile. “Besides, for all her helpfulness, Miss Rinewater lacks the perspective of a seasoned educator and headmistress.”

He was trying to stroke her ego, Ada knew. It wasn’t the first time she’d been subjected to the fumbling flatteries of a self-centered wizard, though the desire to roll her eyes and turn him into a toad remained as strong as ever.

She hoped he didn’t try this with Hecate. Her wife would probably self-implode under the strain of holding back the desire to immediately murder him.

The thought of her wife’s reaction made her smile. Thankfully, she hid that delight under the guise of another, “Your words are too kind, Your Greatness. I can only hope to live up to the faith you’ve placed in me.”

Hecate Hardbroom would be in apoplectic convulsions if she were here, Ada mused. She shifted the conversation back to the original request, “The new girls are doing quite well. Even the ones form nonmagical families are adapting nicely, despite any hesitations we might have had over their ability to adjust to a whole new world. Our first parents’ night of term is less than a week away, and I’m quite looking forward to getting to know these new parents better.”

A beauty queen answer, Hecate would tease: genial, optimistic, perfectly diplomatic, packaged neatly in a honeyed tone and all tied up with a disarming smile. _All hail the queen_, Hecate would purr, leaning in for a triumphant kiss, once the Great Wizard was gone and they were truly alone. Sometimes, when Ada had been particularly deft in managing a situation, Hecate’s hand would already be slipping up Ada’s skirt as she teased, more than ready to crown the blonde in the best of ways.

No such rewards would be given today, Ada thought sadly. The heat in her thighs didn’t get the memo, already tightening and coiling with restless energy at memories past.

“As am I,” the Great Wizard nodded in agreement, his smile a tad too patronizing to be believable. “In fact, I shall be attending your parents’ night, so that I can meet them myself.”

Ada sat back sharply, blinking in surprise. Hellibore was absolutely smug, knowing he’d thrown her for a loop.

“It only seems right,” he continued. “After all, they are part of our community, and deserve to be welcomed as such.”

He was playing at being the benevolent father of all, Ada realized with a heated flash of anger. Setting the stage to look progressive and open, so that when Mildred Hubble finally went off, he’d be the farthest suspect in anyone’s mind. Clever, she had to admit.

_But my wife’s far cleverer_. Ada felt her own measure of smug satisfaction. _And when we’re done, you’ll see just how clever we can be._

* * *

“Mildred—” Hecate stopped herself, her hands still tense and flexed like talons, her entire body still completely rigid with frustration. She closed her eyes slowly, trying to regain control. _No, not anymore, not like before._

The young girl was still as well, watching her carefully, in the way a rabbit stops and waits when it hears a twig snap behind it in the forest. They were in the potions lab (which had been checked for outside spellwork multiple times before Hecate even let Mildred enter), practicing an dismantling spell on a tower of wooden blocks. Mildred’s rather emphatic spell-casting had sent blocks shooting in every direction—a quick shielding spell on Hecate’s part had stopped them from completely destroying the fragile contents of her ingredient shelves.

Hecate took a deep breath and called the blocks back into a tower formation on the small table that she’d placed in the center of the room.

“Mildred,” she tried again, making her voice softer this time. “Try to keep the movement confined to the wrist, not your entire arm.”

Mildred simply blinked and nodded, trying again. Hecate made a small noise of approval as she shuffled the blocks into a tower once more. “Better, but—”

Her hands were more relaxed as she reached forward, delicately placing one hand on Mildred’s shoulder and the other on her elbow, keeping Mildred’s arm extended in a perfectly straight line. “Imagine your arm is in a cast. Keep it locked in position. Now, try again.”

She didn’t let go, and Mildred tried a few experimental rolls of her wrist as she adjusted to the sensation. Then, she cast the spell again.

“Excellent.” The word was out of Hecate’s mouth before she could stop it, and it shocked both of them. Hecate cleared her throat gently, ducking her head as she stepped back, releasing her hold on Mildred’s arm. “Now, again, without my help.”

Mildred’s face furrowed in absolute concentration as she focused on keeping her arm in the correct position, confining all movement to her wrist. Her spell was cast again, and she glanced to Miss Hardbroom for feedback.

Hecate merely nodded this time, a single, slow gesture of approval. Her gaze remained focused across the room, on the tower of blocks currently disassembled and floating around slowly, almost ominously around the table.

“Now, reverse the movement,” Hecate instructed. Mildred pressed her lips together, taking great care to do just that. The blocks floated back together, reassembling and lowering back onto the table.

“Well done, Mildred Hubble.”

Mildred pushed back her own grin at the praise, shaking out the strained feeling in her arm.

“Too much?” Miss Hardbroom noticed, her eyebrows lifting in concern.

“No. Just takes a little getting used to.”

Miss Hardbroom stepped closer, ducking her head to better meet Mildred’s eyes full-on, her face lined with a gravity as deep as her voice. “You _must_ tell me if it’s too much. There is a difference between bravery and foolhardiness.”

“I know,” Mildred said simply. Miss Hardbroom stared at her for another beat, silently sizing her up.

Finally, the potions mistress spoke again, “I shan’t sacrifice you to prove a point, Mildred Hubble.”

“I know,” Mildred repeated, this time with greater conviction. Because she did know the true nature of Miss Hardbroom’s dedication, now. She took a deep breath and added, “And I won’t jeopardize everything we’ve worked for, just to show off. I promise, Miss Hardbroom. I can handle this.”

Miss Hardbroom rose to her full height, imperiously looking down her nose at her pupil as she drawled, “Very well. But that’s enough for today.”

The door to the potions lab creaked open, and Mildred understood that she’d been dismissed. Now she found something…almost endearing in Miss Hardbroom’s distant ways. Granted, her view had softened a lot in regards to HB—especially after all the stories she’d heard from Indigo (stories she’d die before admitting she knew). It couldn’t have been easy, growing up with HB’s life.

It was in that moment that Mildred Hubble realized that Miss Hardbroom was under just as much stress as she was—and perhaps with less support. So, in a tone lined with gentle curiosity, she dared to ask, “And you, Miss Hardbroom? Are you alright?”

Miss Hardbroom stopped, visibly shocked by such a question. She turned to face Millie fully, blinking slowly as she answered, “I….yes, I’m quite alright, Mildred. Whatever would make you think that I wasn’t?”

“Oh, no, I don’t—I just thought…well, maybe someone should ask you, too, just…because.” Millie faltered, too fearful to say the rest. _Just because you deserve to be looked after too, you deserve to have someone care about you too._

Hecate couldn’t stop the smile blossoming in her heart—because despite Mildred Hubble’s concern, she did have someone who asked, someone who cared, someone who loved her. Even if that someone was more distant than usual, due to the situation. She never doubted that Ada cared, or worried, or wondered the same thing, constantly.

Not she was going to confess any of this to a student. Instead, she merely nodded and said, “Thank you, Mildred. Close the door on your way out.”

She turned her attention back to tidying up her classroom, smiling softly as she heard the door click closed. Oh, if Ada could see her now—her wife would tease her about going soft, but underneath the teasing would be genuine pride for how Hecate was growing, slowly shifting into the person she’d always wanted to be, before fear and condemnation held her back.

_Soon_, she promised herself. Soon it would all be over, and she could wrap herself up in Ada again, spend the whole night quietly whispering between them, sharing all the things the other had missed in their respective lives.

Well, perhaps they wouldn’t spend the _whole_ time just talking, Hecate mused. A now-familiar longing rattled through her body, aching and angry. With a sigh, she transferred away to the greenhouse. She might as well _try_ to channel this frustration into some form of productive energy.

* * *

At dinner, Ada turned to Gwen with a slightly curious air, “Miss Bat, you’ve a deft hand at gardening, don’t you?”

Dimity ducked her head, but she was all ears—that simple, seemingly-innocent question was the signal to plan another group meet-up, in Gwen’s parallel-space garden.

“Yes, once upon a time.” Gwen was confirming that she’d be able to arrange everything for the meeting. “Though I think I should defer to Miss Gimlett on any matters of cultivation.”

Dena Gimlett hummed. “That’s quite kind of you, Miss Bat. I’d be happy to help.”

“Oh, I didn’t have an actual gardening question,” Ada admitted. “I was just out on my daily walk and noticed that Miss Bat had installed a new planter under her windows.”

Hecate Hardbroom went very still, and Dimity knew the witch was creating said planter, so that if anyone else went to look, they’d see exactly that.

“Ah, yes, just today, in fact,” Gwen smiled.

“What sort of flowers?” Dena asked, and though her question was purely for show, she still was genuinely curious.

“Only two,” Gwen informed her. “Pansies and Michelmas daisies.”

Dimity gave a small nod. So they would meet in the basements at two o’clock in the morning—Romula Rinewater was certain to be asleep by then. She glanced over at HB, who was concentrating on adding those specific plants to the planters now outside Gwen Bat’s windows. Idly, Dimity wondered what would happen if HB didn’t actually remember what those plants looked like. Could she call them forth on words alone, or did she need a mental image, like Dimity did for most conjuring spells? She’d have to ask her, later.

Dimity and Algie were on bed-check duty, each casually keeping an eye out for Miss Rinewater, who was known to occasionally wander the halls in the evening. After the girls were all tucked in for the night, Dimity made cursory rounds of the library and the staff lounge, feeling a measure of relief to find them both empty.

Still, when it was time to meet, she felt a wave of nervousness. HB’s magic pulled at her, seeking to bring her into a transfer spell, and Dimity allowed her—she knew the only reason the woman asked permission first was out of caution, not consideration.

“Do we know if Rinewater went to her rooms?” Dimity asked, as soon as she was safely inside Gwen’s garden. The parallel space apparently still adhered to the rules of time, because now silvery moonlight filtered through the bougainvillea, casting everyone in dramatic shadowing.

“My dear, I can assure you that Romula won’t be leaving her room at all tonight,” Ada smiled sweetly. Seeing everyone’s questioning glances, she supplied, “I…may have given her a little something extra in her chamomile tea, after dinner. She’s sleeping like a lamb, by now.”

HB’s expression was one of pure pride. Well-matched, those two, Dimity decided.

“Right,” Algie rubbed his hands together. “So we have plenty of time to plot.”

Ada got right to the point, “The Great Wizard plans to join us, on parents’ night. Supposedly to welcome our new nonmagical parents back into the fold.”

“Well, isn’t he a progressive thing,” Gwen Bat drawled, every syllable drowning in sarcasm. Dena Gimlett ducked her head with a light huff of amusement.

Dimity didn’t share their humor. Instead, she only felt dread, “He’s gonna want to see Mildred in action, then, isn’t he? I mean, why else show up?”

Everyone turned their attention to Hecate, who merely grimaced. “He has not informed me of this decision to visit—but I would assume that’s correct.”

Algie gave a little snort of disgusted disapproval. “Swans in like some saint, then steps in to save the day from a disaster of his own making? Sounds right up his twisted alley.”

“If it’s that public of a forum, there would be no way to shield the damage to Ada’s reputation,” Hecate pointed out, glancing over at her wife again.

“He saves the day, proves his point, and shows that Miss Cackle is incompetent and must be removed,” Dena nodded in understanding. “Multiple birds, one stone. Rather clever.”

“If he’d chosen better co-conspirators, perhaps,” Gwen snarked. Noting Hecate’s look, she clarified, “Not you, dear—Miss Rinewater. I think you happen to be quite a solid _intrigante_. I’d be your co-conspirator any day.”

Honestly, Hecate shouldn’t feel like it was such a compliment, but she felt a childish swell of pride anyways, tinged with affection for her old teacher, the only person in the room who’d known her since she was eleven years old.

Even in the shadows, Ada could see Hecate’s quiet delight, and she found herself smiling in turn. Her wife was adorable, she couldn’t help it.

However, Hecate quickly recovered to add, “Except—we don’t think it’s just Ada he’s after. There have been…signs that he and Romula are trying to catch both Ada and me in some kind of lie.”

Gwen arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk, “So he’s possibly begun to realize that you two would never actually turn on each other? Well, it only took him nearly two decades, good for him.”

“And not so good for us,” Hecate pointed out. “He’s already been reaching out more frequently, since the news of Mildred Hubble’s outburst. If he’s coming at the end of this week, then he’s going to be even more wary—and more watchful. He may not have understood the depth of our friendship, but he didn’t become the Great Wizard by being bad at intrigue and conspiracy.”

That earned a round of small, agreeing hums. The Great Wizardry was a life-long appointment, and when a Great Wizard died, there were months of contention and plotting and voting among the council members. Egbert Hellibore didn’t end up in the most powerful position in their society by accident.

Hecate continued, taking a beat to look each person directly in the eyes, “We must be _extremely_ cautious. We cannot afford to underestimate anyone—and we most certainly can’t afford to give away our hand before it’s played.”

“_Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”_ Ada agreed. Everyone stopped to look at her—Gwen Bat was wearing a particularly pleased expression. The blonde explained, “I had some free time on my hands, so I decided to take Gwen’s advice and read _The Art of War_.”

She nodded in Gwen’s direction, as she added, “It really is helpful, I must admit.”

Hecate Hardbroom really, really wanted to kiss her wife. Quite desperately.

Algie’s expression turned hopeful as he asked, “So is this the point where we get to finally fight back?”

“I’ve always thought the best defense is a good offense,” Dimity admitted, glancing in Hecate’s direction.

Hecate’s gaze flicked back to Ada. In a beat, an entire silent exchange ensued. Then, Ada gave a single, slow nod, “Yes, I think it’s time.”

Dimity pumped her fist in emphatic delight. _Finally_.


	10. Chapter 10

Hecate had to admit, the chairs Gwen had chosen for her garden getaway were quite comfortable. Though she was currently sitting on the edge of hers, leaning in to watch Gwen tediously tinker with a calling card, which lay on the table she’d magicked into her space as well.

“Are you sure this will work?”

Gwen Bat did not even dignify the question with a remark. Instead, she turned to give Hecate Hardbroom a long, slow look.

The younger witch got the message loud and clear, because she merely ducked her head.

It wasn’t that Hecate doubted Miss Bat’s abilities. It was just…her anxiety didn’t trust anything, or anyone. No matter how confident the rest of her mind was.

Gwen seemed to understand, because she merely reached out to pat Hecate’s knee reassuringly. “Either it will or it won’t, dear. And either way, we’ll work with what we get.”

Hecate nodded in agreement, trying to push back the anxiety building in her lungs. Granted, she’d been a nervous wreck since this whole intrigue began, but given the events of the past week—plus the decision to actively try trapping the Great Wizard at his own game—her throat stayed permanently clenched, constantly trying to fight down a wave of acid and fear.

“Alright,” Gwen sat back slightly, hands poised over the card. “Time for final touches.”

It had been a long time since they’d been like this—Gwen teaching, Hecate learning at her side. At least since her early days as a teacher’s assistant. Gwen found something endearingly nostalgic about it.

Hecate watched in rapt fascination as Gwen’s magic trilled and rippled over the card, settling into the pressed filigree until it looked perfectly normal again. Gwen motioned for her to take it, and she gingerly scrabbled her jet black nails over the wooden table top, finally picking up the card with a sense of awe.

It felt like the card Romula had given her—the one that had unleashed the mirror monitoring spell. The odd pulse of magic, the barely-perceptible added weight, the way her fingertips tingled at the touch.

She looked back up at Gwen, who was smiling softly. The vise in her throat loosened, just a fraction.

* * *

Miss Gimlett was staring again, Romula Rinewater realized. The older witch had been watching her with an oddly clinical curiosity all morning—at breakfast, in library, and now again, at lunch. Romula wasn’t sure why, after being here for three solid weeks, she was suddenly the subject of such scrutiny, but Gimlett looked like she wasn’t much younger than Miss Bat, so perhaps she was just getting senile. Old people did that, after all.

She took up her fork to enjoy her strawberry salad, and saw the slight tilt of Miss Gimlett’s head, the way she picked up her own fork and adjusted, as if mimicking Romula’s movement.

Strange. Very strange indeed. Though Romula had been around long enough to realize all the staff at Cackle’s were a bit odd. She shuddered as she tried to forget stumbling upon Mr. Rowan-Webb’s afternoon snack of literal flies in honey.

In an attempt to distract herself, she cast her eyes further down the table—to the opposite end, actually, where Dimity Drill and Hecate Hardbroom sat, heads tilted together in quiet conversation. She felt a bit sorry for Miss Drill. It must have been a hard adjustment, coming here to teach after her years as the Star of the Sky. Though Romula understood why she’d had to retire—after all, she’d seen the injury live at the stadium herself, still remembered the gasps of the crowd and the confusion as other flyers scrambled to help the fallen Star.

But honestly, she could have gone anywhere, done anything after her sports career. It just didn’t make sense, to come back here.

Granted, Romula thought she’d never come back to Cackle’s, for any reason, either. And here she was. Though one could say her time here was going to be far more rewarding than Miss Drill's. With a slight smirk and a shake of her head, she returned to her lunch.

Several seats down, Dena Gimlett’s mouth curled as well, mimicking the smirk.

* * *

It was Sunday, which meant more free time—more time to fine-tune every aspect of the plan they’d crafted for most of the night. And since Dimity wasn’t included under the Great Wizard’s umbrella of suspicion, she could simply meet with Hecate to talk, no worries over rousing suspicions at all.

Unfortunately, more free time for Dimity and Hecate also meant more free time for Romula as well. And currently, she was seated on a bench near the learning garden, pretending to soak up the sun as Dimity and Hecate strolled the grounds.

“I’m still trying to figure out if her lack of subtlety is intentional or if she’s just an idiot,” Dimity admitted, glancing in Romula’s direction.

“I don’t see why it can’t be both,” Hecate gave a magnanimous shrug.

Dimity made a small noise of agreement as they continued their walk. After a few beats of silence, she asked, “What was she like, when you taught her?”

Hecate frowned at this, truly trying to remember. “Difficult. Lazy, I used to think. But really, she just didn’t give any effort to anything that didn’t interest her. She was quite a convincing liar, and there were several times we were left scratching our heads because she’d often get herself in all sorts of tangles, manipulating situations in which she held no personal stake at all. She just…enjoyed meddling, enjoyed…messing with people’s heads. Except…_enjoy_ is too strong a word. She just…did it. Because she could, I guess. Her motivations were a mystery to all of us on staff, in those days.”

“And now?” Dimity glanced back again, making sure Romula was still on the bench, out of earshot.

“Now,” Hecate sighed, again trying to contemplate a genuine answer. “Now, I don’t know. Ada assumes the Great Wizard has convinced her that what they’re doing is for the greater good. Though I’m not convinced she’d care about that sort of thing. If anything, it was just a chance to come back and wreak more havoc. And from what Ada’s told me about past interactions at council meetings and events, for whatever reason, she’s never liked Ada. Which doesn’t make sense, as Ada wasn’t here during Romula’s tenure as a student.”

“She’s still a Cackle,” Dimity pointed out. In a lower tone, she added, “Alma left quite a legacy.”

“That she did.” Hecate’s voice was soft, tired and tinged with hurt.

“She…” Dimity stopped herself, unsure if she could actually continue this conversation with HB. But they were friends now, weren’t they? And with Ada basically out of the picture, HB needed _someone_ to talk to. So she took a shallow breath and continued, “She was the one responsible for your confinement, wasn’t she?”

Hecate hummed in affirmation. With a slight sniff of disinterest, she clarified, “Her and the previous Great Wizard. Though given what she did to Agatha, I assume that she had the larger part in choosing my fate. But I didn’t come to that conclusion until my twenties.”

She looked down at gravel path, her face stoic as she added, “At the time, I thought it was all the Great Wizard’s idea. After all, he was there when I was told; it was a decree only he could make. But I didn’t know Alma back then. Didn’t know exactly what she was capable of. And she was incensed—because I’d broken the rules again, I’d defied her again, and then I’d refused to tell her where Indigo was. I think, maybe, I’d begun to…see. To know what she was truly like. Either way, I undermined her authority and showed just how impotent she really was against me, a mere child.”

With a wry shake of her head, she looked up and away, squinting slightly. “I think…she thought she would break me, with a punishment like that. And until the day she left the academy, I think she still held on to the hope that I would finally cave, that I’d beg to have it lifted, that I’d finally tell her where Indigo was, that I’d finally let her win.”

“But you didn’t,” Dimity felt a measure of pride.

“I didn’t,” HB smiled as well. “And now, I realize that I made the right choice.”

“You absolutely did,” Dimity echoed with a deft nod. She reached out, looping her arm easily through HB’s, slightly surprised that the woman didn’t immediately pull away. “And you’re making the right choice now.”

“I know,” Hecate informed her softly.

“I know you know,” Dimity shot back. “I’m just pointing out a pattern. The right thing isn’t always easy, or free from fear. But it always comes ‘round, in the end.”

HB merely hummed at that. They continued on, Dimity still somewhat shocked that HB was actually letting her touch her. But it felt…right. Friendly. Comforting. It felt like the kind of thing they should be doing, in a moment like this.

“You know,” Dimity felt the need to share some of her own past, after HB had so bravely opened up about hers. “Alma once told me that I’d never make anything of myself. Granted—she actually told my mother. She said I might be good a flying, but that’s only because it was the easiest thing in the world—after all, even the cats could do it.”

HB stiffened at the insult, and Dimity felt a measure of amusement (because honestly, the woman had made so many off-hand comments about the lowliness of sports, and yet, if anyone else dared to say such a thing, she was ready to fight them in a heartbeat—it was oddly endearing).

Dimity was beaming like a cheshire cat, as she quietly added, “I would have given anything to see her face, when she opened her mail and saw that gilded invitation to my induction into the Wind Witches Hall of Fame.”

“You didn’t.” Hecate was slightly shocked at the bold move. It was absolutely petty and a waste of a coveted invitation to such a high-profile event, but honestly, she couldn't imagine a more perfectly crafted revenge. Perhaps she and Drill were far more alike than she'd ever realized.

“Oh, I assure you, I _did_.” Dimity was glowing with smugness. “She didn’t show, obviously, but I never expected her to. Still, my point was made.”

Hecate gave a low chuckle of agreement.

“It’s a good thing Ada turned out nothing like her,” Dimity added. Again, this earned her a soft hum from Hecate. Even in that small sound, Dimity could hear the _missing_ in HB’s tone. Quietly, she patted the woman’s arm, “Just a few days more. Then you can be back to being ridiculously, simperingly in love.”

The deputy headmistress snorted at that. Then, with a more serious air, she admitted, “I’m still worried, for Mildred. Even with all the precautions, we could—”

“But we won’t,” Dimity assured her. “And Mildred Hubble is a law entirely unto herself. If she’s telling you that she can handle something, then she can, Hecate.”

“There is a difference between _can_ and _should_,” Hecate returned quietly.

Dimity had to agree. But that didn’t change the facts of their current situation. With a sigh, she pointed out, “The thing is: we are where we are, and there’s no changing it. We’re making the best of an awful situation, and that’s all that can be done.”

_We_. Hecate felt a measure of comfort in that word. She wasn’t alone, she wasn’t making rash decisions without the input and advice of others. This was part of the wonderful thing that she and Ada had built, too—the support, the sense of camaraderie, the steadfast loyalty of a staff who seemed more like family at times. She felt another measure of pride—that was Ada’s doing, all Ada’s. Hecate had been on staff at the academy for several years before Ada had returned. It had been a far different environment then, with Alma at the helm. And now…now, even when sometimes it felt a bit too close for comfort, it was far better than the alternative.

“I need a nap,” Dimity announced. “Staying up all hours of the night scheming really takes its toll.”

“I need to check in on Mildred,” Hecate shifted slightly, slipping her arm out of Dimity’s. “We have quite a lot of work to do, if she’s to be ready by parents’ night.”

“Will she?” Dimity clarified, “Be ready?”

Hecate gave a single, curt nod, “I believe so. But I shall rest easier, knowing I’ve taken every single opportunity to properly prepare her.”

“I could help.”

She stopped, turning to look at the flying instructor in slight confusion.

Dimity held out her hands in a gesture of explanation, “My free period is the same time as the fourth years’. I could…take some extra time, help her work on whatever she needs to work on.”

She fully expected Hecate to shoot her down. Instead, after a brief pause, the woman merely nodded. “Yes. Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea.”

_An excellent idea._ Goodness, HB must be getting soft in her old age.

* * *

Ada double-checked that the cat trying to climb into her lap was actually Pendle before gently scooping him up and snuggling into him. His purrs sounded like a rusty old engine, the familiar sound making her smile softly as he settled into her lap and she returned to her cup of tea.

It felt odd, doing nothing while she knew others were busy working around her. She’d said as much to Hecate, as they were leaving last night's meeting. Hecate had merely squeezed her hand in reassurance, gently reminding her, _We are a team for a reason. You did so much, while the rest of us could only wait. You traveled time for us, Ada. Now it’s our turn to do our parts._

Hecate had smiled so sweetly, her eyes filled with such warmth that Ada had wanted to cry. Except Ada found that she was tired of crying. Tired of fear and worry and all those exhausting things that seemed to be a rather frequent part of her life, these days.

_Maybe I should retire_, she mused. Even as she contemplated the idea, she knew it wouldn’t happen—not yet, not like this. It would be years before she brought her niece to the Academy to begin her headmistress training, and years still before she actually handed over the reins of the school.

She certainly wouldn’t leave now. She owed it to herself, to Hecate, to all their girls, to ensure that when she did leave, it would be with a head held high and a rock-solid certainty that her legacy would continue, in the fashion that she approved.

Still, she would be glad when this was all over. She said as much, to Pendle, who perked up slightly at the sound of her voice. He merely gave a few slow, sleepy blinks in return.

“Aren’t you ready to have everything back as it should be?” She asked quietly, though mostly rhetorically. Pendle butted his head against her palm, as if agreeing. She hated having to cast a quick searching spell, making sure her office was truly secure before softly continuing, leaning in to keep her voice in a whisper, “Aren’t you ready to have Morgana and Hecate back?”

She used their connection to present an image from just a few weeks ago: Hecate propped up in bed in the early morning, Morgana in her arms. A rush of delighted affection surged through Ada’s chest, and she smiled in agreement with her familiar’s response.

“Do you miss them?” She guessed.

Pendle seemed to understand that really, this was about his witch wanting to reminisce about simpler times. Because he sat up, fully awake now as he delicately shifted in Ada’s lap, turning so that he could rise up on his hind legs, forepaws lightly resting on Ada’s shoulder as he stared deeply at her.

A tumble of images flashed through Ada’s mind, all from Pendle’s point of view. Ada asleep in bed, Hecate still up reading, her dark nails lightly scratching at the sheets, an invitation for Pendle to pounce and play. Pendle sitting on the edge of the bed as Ada and Hecate moved about the room, getting ready for the day—at separate times, they both gave him light pets and head scratches as they breezed by, almost without any conscious thought at all. Pendle hiding under the bed, distracted from his dust-bunny hunting by the sound of laughter, turning to see two pairs of bare feet emerging from the bathroom, equally-bare calves still wet from the shower. The warm sound of two happy voices, content with their lives.

The final scene was Pendle, blinking awake from his post at the foot of the bed, next to Morgana. Ada was shifting in her sleep, obviously disturbed by a dream. Pendle sat up straighter, stepping forward gingerly to inspect the situation. Then Hecate rolled over, wrapping an arm around Ada and curling her legs underneath Ada’s, spooning into the fetal position. Ada’s twitching stopped, and the night went peaceful again.

Ada found herself blinking back tears as she lightly ruffled his fur. “Oh, you sweet, sweet boy. Thank you.”

He took a beat to simply look at her, as if he was assessing her, trying to make sure she was truly alright. One paw came up to lightly pat against her cheek. She smiled, gathering him up in her arms to simply hold him. His rattling purr kicked off again, deep and calming.

“Soon,” she promised him. “Soon it’ll all be right again.”

Less than a week, she told herself. However, instead of feeling comforted by the rapidly approaching deadline, Ada felt her stomach tighten in worry.

* * *

Hecate should have taken a nap. Not that she would have been able to actually sleep—it was just that, as she began her call to the Great Wizard, she realized that she absolutely should have waited until she was better rested. Her mind was far too frazzled for intrigue.

But she was expected to check in every day now, and she couldn’t very well cast more suspicion by not doing so. With a light sigh, she pulled her shoulders back, assuming a straighter posture as she waited for the Great Wizard to answer.

“Hecate,” he gave a slight nod in acknowledgement of Hecate’s full formal genuflection. “I trust you’ve spoken to Ada today.”

How she hated hearing Ada’s name in his mouth. Normally he addressed her by her title, and that was somewhat more bearable. But the lack of respect, the subtle way of dismissing her authority by using her first name, only rankled Hecate.

However, she hid it easily enough, giving a small nod, “Of course, Your Greatness. I look forward to your visit.”

“As do I.” He didn’t say why, they both knew.

Hecate’s hands linked together in her lap, gripping each other with bone-shrieking ferocity as she calmly asked, “Are you…expecting a full show of devotion on this particular visit?”

She had to make him say it first. Somewhere, Algie and Gwen were watching this mirror call, looking for any way to damn the Great Wizard with some kind of confession. But they’d agreed that it had to show that the Great Wizard was the one making the suggestions, not Hecate.

“No more so than I expect for any other visit,” he informed her. The creases around his eyes seemed tighter. He kept glancing at what must have been the corner of his own mirror, slightly distracted.

“Of course,” she ducked her head, fully playing the role of lackey. Cautiously, she glanced back up. He was watching her again, with a guarded air.

Quietly, he spoke, “I assume you’re quite busy, with preparations for parents’ night. I am…most anxious to see how the students are doing.”

He was confirming that Mildred’s final meltdown would happen then, but not plainly enough to prove his involvement in the scheme.

“I think you will be quite pleased,” Hecate promised. A lie, if she had any say about how the night would turn out.

“We shall see,” was his terse reply. His gaze was focused on the corner of the mirror again. Distractedly, he said, “I’m afraid I’m rather busy, Miss Hardbroom. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

With that, the call ended. Dread filled Hecate’s gut like a stone.

He knew. Somehow, he saw the effects of their own mirroring spell.

Hecate cursed under her breath. This was exactly what couldn’t happen. The walls were closing in, their plan was nearly finished, and now, the Great Wizard was beginning to suspect.

She felt sick. Clutching her stomach lightly, she closed her eyes, trying to will her body back into a better physical state. After a few beats of shallow breathing, she stood and reached out with her magic, finding Gwen before transferring away.

The woman didn’t seem surprised when Hecate appeared in her private sitting room, where Gwen was seated at the mirror over her desk, Algie across the room in his overstuffed chair. Gwen turned to face the younger witch, announcing, “I know. He saw it.”

Hecate merely nodded. Algie shook his head, slouching further into his seat, “We’ve gotta remove it. Make him think it was just an odd fluke.”

“I have to agree,” Gwen admitted, looking back to Hecate with a regretful expression. “It’s too big of a risk at this point.”

Hecate hummed in agreement. This certainly wasn’t ideal—they’d planned to record the Great Wizard’s mirror calls to Hecate, to have irrefutable proof that he not only condoned this scheme, but crafted it himself. And now, after the very first call, they had to toss the plan in the trash.

“We’ll figure something out,” Gwen gently assured her. Her voice softened even more as she added, “You should get some rest, dear. We’re all far too old to stay up all night, like we did last night.”

“Speak for yourself,” Algie piped up. “I’m used to not sleeping through the night. Do you know how loud frogs are, once it goes dark? The pond was like a bloody rave, every single night.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. The corner of Hecate’s mouth wobbled into the briefest of smiles. She knew that Algie was trying to lessen the tension, and she appreciated his efforts.

“You’ll let Ada know?” Her eyebrows lifted questioningly.

“Of course,” Gwen nodded.

Hecate nodded as well, raising her hand and transferring away again.

Gwen simply shook her head sadly. Algie looked equally upset.

“I swear,” he spoke in a low tone. “When Hellibore shows up, we all should just kick him in the shins.”

“Not right away,” Gwen pointed out. “But after the intrigue’s over, a swift kick would probably do him good.”

Algie snorted at that. “He doesn’t deserve a swift anything, after all this.”

His wife merely hummed in agreement. She rose to her feet, holding her hand out. “I should take my own advice and take a nap. Come along, rave boy.”

He rose to his feet, slipping his hand into hers while still slightly protesting, “I didn’t say _I_ was part of the frog rave—”

“You didn’t have to. I know you, dearest. You absolutely were partying it up.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Frogs don’t really party.”

“The ones who attended our wedding would beg to differ,” she returned easily. He laughed at that, unable to argue. However, he pulled back slightly, offering a regretful smile.

“I must be off, my darling girl. I’ve got to meet Oberon.”

“That’s today?”

“That’s today,” he nodded.

“Right, then,” she lightly patted his chest, before looking around in mild confusion. After a beat, she called forth a vinyl record labeled _Last Night at Lascaux: The Underground Performance of Esper Vespertilio_, the cover autographed in sparkling silver ink. She presented it to him with a flourish, “Best of luck, my dearest.”

Algie merely grinned in response. The Great Wizard wasn’t the only Esper fan on the Magic Council—Oberon Alvaro would sell out his own mum for a copy of this limited edition and highly-prized recording, one of Esper’s earliest and most avant-garde productions.

Long before last night’s meeting, Algie and Gwen had discussed learning as much about Romula Rinewater as possible, to figure out her motivations for helping Hellibore. Today’s meeting had been set up for nearly a week now, after Algie had reached out to Oberon, an old friend since university days. And as an old friend, Algie had known exactly what bait to dangle.

If Oberon would sell out his mum for this record, he’d more than happily dish out everything he knew on Romula Rinewater—and any side gossip he might have heard around the Magic Council concerning Cackle’s Academy for Witches.

He kissed his brilliant wife goodbye and took to the skies, feeling a measure of glee at the thought that Egbert Hellibore would be brought down by an Esper record that he’d give his right eye just to see. The fanatic, betrayed by his diva. It seemed quite operatic, truth be told.

* * *

Thankfully, Mildred was far enough into this intrigue that on Monday morning, she didn’t even blink when Dimity Drill railed on her for a supposed infraction, citing that she’d have to spend her free period on the flying green, proving that she could actually fly in a safe and sane manner.

“Is HB alright?” Millie asked, as soon as she returned to the green and lifted off, with Miss Drill flying steadily beside her.

“She is—and that’s _Miss Hardbroom_ to you.”

“_You_ call her HB.”

“_I_ earned the right.” Dimity returned, not unkindly. After a beat, she confessed, “The Great Wizard is coming for parents’ night.”

“I know. H—Miss Hardbroom told me.” Mildred frowned slightly as she remembered the night before. Being a Sunday, it meant that everyone was making their weekly mirror calls home. HB had pulled Mildred aside before hers, quietly informing her of the new development.

HB had tried to seem calm and unaffected, but something in her eyes told Millie that she was worried. Not that Millie blamed her for it.

“I almost told my mum not to come to parents’ night,” Millie admitted. “Just in case things got…complicated.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she stays safe,” Dimity assured her. Poor kid, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about.

“She’s…a really good friend to you, isn’t she?” Mildred’s voice with lined with a cautious curiosity. She made sure her broom was on a direct path with no obstacles before turning her attention to her flying instructor.

“Yes, I think she is.” Dimity tried to keep her answer simple, even though her emotions were not.

“She thinks so, too,” Mildred informed her. “After all, you’re the only friend she has who knows about this world. I mean, she gets on well with Maud and Enid’s parents, but…being friendly isn’t the same as being friends, is it?”

“No,” Dimity agreed quietly. “It’s not.”

That was a lesson Dimity had learned the hard way. Still, Mildred was right—she and Julie were friends. She reminisced over Julie’s term as art teacher: evenings spent chatting in the staff lounge, a few quiet rainy days in the library, even a few Sunday afternoon hikes into the hills surrounding the academy. It had been good. Easy. Golden. Lined with promise.

But promises could be broken. Another lesson Dimity had learned, all too well. Broken by ridiculous men in ridiculous backpacking gear. Broken by reality, sharp and hard and fast.

Still, it wasn’t Julie’s fault that Dimity had fallen for her. And Dimity still wanted to be her friend. She’d learn to tamp down the _overly_ friendly feelings and move on. Heaven knows, she’d done it before.

“Would you say you two are…_very_ close friends?” Something in Mildred’s tone made Dimity perk up.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Dimity answered carefully.

“Like Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom?”

Dimity nearly fell off her broom. She looked over at Mildred, whose face was meticulously blank, perfectly innocent.

She couldn’t know. Could she?

And if she _did_ know…what was she implying about her mother and Dimity? Did she know something that Dimity didn’t? Dimity conceded that Mildred Hubble knew _a lot_ about her mum that Dimity didn’t, but did that include something about Julie’s feelings for Dimity Drill specifically?

Dimity certainly couldn’t ask. And now Mildred was glancing over with a softly curious expression, making her realize that she was taking far too long to answer.

“Well, I mean—” Dimity shifted on her broom, brain furiously trying to find a proper answer. “I would do anything in my power to keep her safe, if that’s what you mean.”

Given the grin on Mildred’s face, that wasn’t what she meant at all. Dimity’s stomach gave a little flip. Somehow, this idea terrified her more than their current coup d’etat against the Great Wizard.

She quickly steered them back to safer (at least for Dimity) topics. “Anyway, HB wants to make sure you’re as prepared as you can be, and I volunteered to help.”

“She’s not going to work with me herself anymore?” The worry in Mildred Hubble’s eyes was palpable.

“No, no, of course she is. It’s just…she’s not going to have as much time as she’d like. She’ll be busy with deputy head duties, what with preparing for a visit from the Great Wizard and all.”

Mildred nodded in understanding. Quietly, she asked, “How…exactly are we going to catch him?”

She’d always been too afraid to ask HB. Perhaps because she was afraid hat HB didn’t really have and answer—and that was the most terrifying aspect of all, the thought that HB, the woman who’d so cleverly saved them so many times before, might not have a clever plan in place this time.

After everything with Indigo, Millie had come to see her teacher as more fragile, more fallible. It wasn’t a welcome change of view. Still, it meant all the more, her memories of all the times HB had stepped between her and danger.

“Well,” Miss Drill gave a heavy sigh, the complication in that simple sound only increasing Millie’s anxiety. “We’re _trying _to get him on record, confessing to the plan—if we have hard evidence that he planned this, it will make things a million times easier.”

There was something else, Mildred could tell. For whatever reason, Miss Drill decided to confess, “We tried to use a mirror monitoring spell. But HB’s pretty sure he realized and got spooked, so we removed it. Right now, we’re back to square one on that front.”

Mildred’s face scrunched slightly as she considered the problem. “What about…a less magical solution?”

Miss Drill looked over at her, curious.

“A cellphone camera could do the trick,” Mildred pointed out. “And he’d certainly never see _that_ coming—especially not from Miss Hardbroom.”

“Mildred Hubble,” Miss Drill’s eyes were wide, a slight smile dancing around the edges of her mouth. “That’s absolutely brilliant.”

* * *

“Absolutely not,” HB dismissed the idea immediately when Dimity presented it to her later that afternoon. Classes were over for the day, and Dimity had slipped into the potions lab for a quick chat.

“Why not?” Dimity demanded. She’d thought it was a rather clever idea.

“Do _you_ know how to operate such a _device_?” HB practically snarled, each word over-accented and clipped.

“Well, no—”

“Then how, exactly, could you hope to pull off such a scheme?”

“Well it’s not like _you_ know how to, either—”

“That was quite literally _my point_, Drill.”

“Ah.” Dimity realized that it was a rather valid point.

HB shifted suddenly, turning to the closed door of her classroom. Dimity heard it too—a faint scratching sound. HB waved the door open and Morgan padded in, looking up at them with a flat expression.

HB clipped over, lightly scooping the cat into her arms. She rubbed the top of Morgana’s head—and Dimity noticed that in doing so, she was effectively covering the cat’s eyes. Dimity raised her eyebrows in silent query. HB gave a small, single shake of her head in response.

Romula was in the room.

With a theatrical flare, HB opened her palm, magically producing a tin of muscle liniment. “That should sort you out for the next few weeks.”

Dimity gladly took it, smiling as she promised, “And I’ll keep you posted on that…other matter.”

“I await your efforts with bated breath,” HB drawled, flat and stone-faced as ever.

Dimity rolled her eyes as she left.

Hecate deposited her cat’s imposter onto her desk, going back to the new batch of dried herbs that she’d been sorting when Drill had showed up with her preposterous plans. She studiously avoided faux-Morgana’s gaze. Nonetheless, she still felt the scrutiny, the doubt and wariness upon her skin like the heat of a flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: the muscle liniment HB gives to Dimity at the end of this chapter is further explained in The Joy of Friendship.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is our final update for this story, and this series. Over the next few days, come check out my tumblr (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/marvellouslymadmim) to find bonus materials such as a playlist, timeline, and master post (if that's you kinda thing. if not, carry on.).  
A huge huge HUGE thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, who reblogged on tumblr or screamed into my inbox. Y'all are the best of the best.   
Now let's buckle up and watch these witches work, yeah?

Hecate Hardbroom was up to something. Something that specifically involved Dimity Drill. That much Romula knew.

That was, unfortunately, as much as she knew. It started with finding them in Hecate’s lab, Monday afternoon. On Tuesday, she noticed that Miss Drill kept popping round to wherever Miss Hardbroom was—it was apparent that she was trying to wear her down about something. And while Miss Hardbroom’s annoyance was also obvious, it seemed to resolve itself by Wednesday, when Romula spied them out walking through the gardens in the late afternoon—much like they’d been on Sunday as well.

An interesting phenomenon, as Romula Rinewater had always remembered Miss Hardbroom to be someone who wasn’t particularly a fan of walking. Over the past three weeks, she hadn’t seen much to contradict that memory. Except for now.

Something was definitely afoot.

It didn’t help that His Greatness had been visibly worried, the last time they’d spoken. He kept glancing at the corner of the mirror, asking several times if she’d seen anything unusual, if she’d felt worried about anything. He’d been odd and distant and reticent, refusing to speak plainly, as he had before.

She knew that he was worried about the mirroring spell. She didn’t know why that seemed to bother him now. Had it been compromised, somehow? Was he afraid of this later coming back to haunt him? Was he just becoming paranoid?

That was always a possibility, with these power-mad types. That madness bled into other parts of their lives. While she wouldn’t begrudge the man a good old breakdown, she’d much prefer it be _after_ they were finished here.

Well, after _he_ was finished here, anyways.

Parents’ night was two days away—the final culmination of Miss Hardbroom’s machinations, the moment His Greatness could point to the nonmagical world and say: _See, this is dangerous, they are dangerous, we must close ourselves off again, _and most importantly, the day in which Romula Rinewater would receive all that she had been promised, for all the good she’d done. She would not let them trip, so close to the finish line.

Which was exactly why she’d placed little warning spells around Dimity Drill’s room—she didn’t dare try the same for Miss Hardbroom, whose meticulous and also-slightly-paranoid nature had a higher chance of catching on. And exactly why she was slipping down the dimly lit hallway, long after the final bed-check, listening intently for some kind of sound, some sign of where Miss Drill had gone, after leaving her room at such a late hour.

It took a while, but eventually her search led her down one of the lesser used corridors, to a supply closet, from which she could hear the faint cadence of voices. She paused, trying to hear the conversation on the other side of the closed door.

However, just as she leaned in, the door whipped open to reveal Miss Drill and Miss Hardbroom. Romula didn’t have a chance to react—to cast an invisibility spell or transfer away or _anything_—and the three witches stared at each other, completely stunned.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Hecate recovered first, rising to her full height and fixing Romula with an impervious glare. For a brief flash, Romula felt transported back to her student days—except this time, she was the one with more power.

“I’m free to walk these halls, just as much as you are,” she countered. She cast a pointed look between the two witches, “Though I think your activities look far more suspicious than mine. So perhaps I should be the one asking what are _you_ doing here?”

Miss Hardbroom sputtered in indignation at that. However, it was Miss Drill who spoke first, blurting out, “We’re having an affair.”

“Drill!” Miss Hardbroom’s voice was shocked.

“I know, I know, you don’t like that word,” Dimity rolled her eyes. She turned her attention back to Romula, “She prefers _fling_. Implying it won’t last. Which I think is rather negative and a bit of self-fulfilling prophecy on her part, when you think—”

“Drill!” The potions mistress was practically shrieking. “This is—”

“We’ve been found out, HB, it’s not the end of the world,” Dimity set her hands on her hips, obviously upset that Miss Hardbroom was trying to deny their liaison. She turned back to Romula, whose face was still lined with incredulity. She upped the ante, “I know, it seems unlikely. But ask me anything about her. She’s got a bruise on her left breast. And a birth mark, right on—”

Hecate Hardbroom’s hand whipped out, lightly smacking the back of Dimity’s head. The flying instructor winced, “Ok, ok, yeah, I see how that could be considered a little _too_ much information—”

At this point, Romula was stepping back slightly, holding up her hands as if to ward off any more information.

With a huff, Miss Hardbroom continued glaring at Miss Drill, though her words were for Romula, “If you’ll excuse me, I can think of a _thousand_ different places I would rather be.”

She transferred away. Dimity Drill gave a slightly apologetic look, “We’re still…working out the kinks in our relationship.”

“I—I am so sorry,” Romula was still trying to process the idea. Though even now, despite the shock, it made sense. The times they’d gone off, to the broom shed or to walk through the gardens. The meeting in the classroom, in the late afternoon. The quiet conversations at their end of the dining table, the way Miss Hardbroom pretended to dislike Miss Drill so deeply when it was evident to everyone around that it was mainly just feigned. “I thought—I don’t know, I didn’t even—”

“Quite alright,” Dimity saved her with a slight smile. She lightly patted Romula’s shoulder. “Just…don’t tell anyone, ok? Hecate’s a very private person.”

“Right. Yes. Understood.”

With one last smile, Dimity Drill transferred away.

Romula glanced around, more out of habit than worry, before gingerly stepping into the small closet from which the two witches had emerged. With a slight frown, she cast her magic about, feeling for any residue from a previous spell, for any kind of proof that the women had been up to anything other than…well, Romula didn’t actually want to think about what they’d been up to.

Nothing. No magic had been used in this closet recently. Which meant only…nonmagical activities had occurred. With a blush, Romula retreated.

In the end, however, she wanted to laugh. Opposites really do attract.

* * *

Dimity was not entirely surprised to find Hecate waiting for her, when she transferred back into her chambers.

“An _affair_?” The woman hissed, before Dimity had even fully materialized.

“I am not good at being put on the spot!” Dimity held out her hands in a gesture of self-defense.

“Yes, I noticed!” HB practically spat. She was still fuming, “And the _risks_—I mean, what if she’d actually wanted confirmation of this alleged birth mark—”

“Gross, she’d never be so skeevy—”

“You don’t _know_ that!”

“HB,” Dimity took a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver bad news. She stepped closer, lightly putting her hands on the woman’s shoulders (a risky move, considering the smack she’d gotten earlier, but worth it). “I need you to understand something. There is literally exactly _one_ person in this entire castle who would willingly see you naked. And she’s currently fast asleep under a very pink quilt—”

“If you were only a fraction less vital to our plans, I would murder you right now with my bare hands,” Hecate informed her, absolutely stone-faced.

“I know,” Dimity assured her soothingly. HB merely shook her head, still blown away by the woman’s presumption.

Still, Hecate had to ask, though she couldn't bring herself to fully do so, “And….the bruise?”

“I unfortunately saw it, the night Ada and I—”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Hecate waved away the rest, not really wanting to relive that particular memory. She ducked her head, clearing her throat, “Well, it’s…gone, now. So again, you really shouldn’t have—”

“Hecate. I mean this in all seriousness—what other option did we have that didn’t sound absolutely suspect?”

The woman blinked at that, her mind considering the possibilities. Then, quietly, she conceded, “You’re right. Thank you.”

Dimity wondered vaguely if she were having a stroke. “Hecate Hardbroom just said _I_ was right—and then _thanked_ me? Ye gods and little fishes, have I died and—”

“One can always count on you to open your mouth and ruin the moment,” Hecate rolled her eyes. However, when she looked back at Dimity, her eyes were dancing with the kind of dark glee that made Dimity’s lungs tighten uneasily. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Julie Hubble about our little affair.”

“Ju-Julie? Why should I care—”

“Why should you _indeed_, Miss Drill,” Hecate’s tone was prissy and undeniably smug. “Perhaps that’s a question you should ask yourself again, at parents’ night. From what I hear, you’ve already volunteered to be her shining knight—”

“Definitely not the words I used, _at all_,” Dimity held up her hand to stop that train of thought.

“But it’s not always about the _words_ we use, is it?” Hecate cocked her head to the side in gentle curiosity. She was enjoying this, far too much.

“HB, I swear upon all that—”

“You blabbed to Romula Rinewater about the state of my breasts. I think I have earned the right to tease, just a little,” Hecate crossed her arms, fixing Dimity with a pointed look.

“Yeah, alright, I suppose that’s a valid point,” Dimity conceded. Then she made a shooing motion, “Now get out of my room and let me sleep.”

With a flourish, Hecate pulled the cellphone from the pocket of her robe—their late night meeting had been a learning session for them both, trying to figure out how to make the thing work.

“Oh, right,” Dimity took the device, looking at it with a mixture of hope and doubt. “You think this will really work?”

“I can’t afford not to,” Hecate admitted. With a nod, she began to transfer away, “Goodnight, Miss Drill.”

Dimity was left alone with her thoughts, and a building sense of dread. If Hecate Hardbroom got this idea of Dimity and Julie together between her teeth, there’d be no letting go until she’d succeeded.

It took Dimity a moment to realize that perhaps, that wasn’t a bad thing. Though the teasing she’d have to endure from Hecate Hardbroom wasn’t something to relish.

_Julie Hubble, the things I do for you._

* * *

Romula still kept a watchful eye, but she felt slightly kinder towards Miss Hardbroom. The woman was in quite the situation, dealing with this intrigue while trying to also hide a burgeoning relationship from the rest of the staff. Couldn’t be easy, in a fishbowl like Cackle’s. Briefly, she wondered if Miss Drill knew of the Great Wizard’s scheme, but it seemed doubtful. Hecate Hardbroom didn’t seem like the type for pillow talk. 

Friday arrived—parents’ night was now just hours away. Romula could feel her entire body rippling, crackling with electricity and excitement.

However, when Miss Hardbroom approached her just after lunch with a worried expression, that anticipation quickly muted into anxiety.

“Miss Rinewater,” the woman’s tone was soft, so very careful. “May I…speak with you? Privately?”

“Of course,” Romula nodded. Miss Hardbroom raised her hand, waiting for Romula’s nod of permission before whisking them away in a transfer spell.

They ended up in Miss Hardbroom’s private sitting room. The deputy headmistress gestured to two chairs in front of the fireplace, allowing Romula to take a seat before sitting as well.

“Is everything alright?” Romula couldn’t stand the tension anymore.

“I…I think so,” Miss Hardbroom frowned, slightly. “I’m just—well, the Great Wizard has been a bit distant, of late. It is worrisome, to say the least. Beyond the mere fact that he shall attend tonight, he hasn’t shared any information with me. While I can appreciate the need for secrecy, it’s still a bit anxiety-inducing.”

“He hasn’t shared his plans with me, either,” Romula admitted, feeling a measure of relief in knowing that she wasn’t the only one out of the loop.

Miss Hardbroom’s fingers rippled, a slight, almost non-existent little wave. Romula saw a movement from the corner of her eye—the woman’s familiar trotted into the room, fluffy tail flickering in curiosity.

“I think we both know his expectations for the evening,” Miss Hardbroom’s voice brought Romula’s attention back to her. “I had simply hoped that he’d been more…concrete in expressing those designs to you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Romula shook her head. The cat was closer now, delicately sniffing at the edge of her long skirt.

Suddenly, the cat hissed, swiping at her ankle with razor-sharp claws. Romula yelped at the sudden pain, lifting her feet as the cat leapt at her again, this time with both teeth and talons.

Thankfully, Miss Hardbroom intervened, grabbing the cat and holding her close—though the small animal still struggled fiercely against her, growling and hissing at Romula.

“What the hell?” Romula sputtered, still trying to process what had just happened and hoping she looked shocked enough to attest to her innocence.

“Apologies,” Miss Hardbroom was calming the cat down with long, heavy strokes atop her head. “She’s been acting quite strange, lately. One could say that she’s entirely not herself, sometimes.”

And now the woman’s dark eyes flicked up, pinning Romula under the intensity of her gaze. Her tone changed entirely as she quietly added, “But then I suppose you are…quite _familiar_ with the feeling.”

It was a good line, Hecate thought. It was a shame that Romula was too shocked to appreciate it.

* * *

Ada settled into the chair, still warm from Hecate’s body, which was now standing beside her, glaring down at Romula Rinewater, currently confined to her own chair through magical means. They’d discussed this beforehand—and even though this confrontation was taking place in Hecate’s chambers, she’d insisted that they keep their usual positions, Ada seated and Hecate standing at her side, to reinforce the idea of exactly who was in charge here.

Ada loved her wife for it, for the ways that she sought to prove to everyone what a strong leader Ada was, even in times when Ada doubted it herself.

Not that she doubted it now.

She smiled at Romula, the kind of smile that seemed sweet at first but somehow only accented the hardness in her eyes, when one truly took the time to look.

“Now, Miss Rinewater, I understand that you might be reticent to share any information with us.”

“But we can get what we need, with or without your compliance,” Hecate intoned drolly. “Though one would suggest you choose the easy way, for your own sake.”

Ada tilted her head slightly, her tone laced with gentle warning, “Hecate…”

Her wife merely crossed her arms over her chest, not backing down as she glared at Romula.

“I could alert His Greatness right now,” Romula hissed, shooting daggers right back at Hecate.

“You should be able to, yes,” Hecate returned calmly. “But your summoning strength isn’t good at long distances, is it?”

Romula felt a ripple of fear. Bluffing usually worked for her, but it was evident that it wouldn’t today.

Not for the first time, Hecate Hardbroom was extremely grateful for Gwen Bat’s information-gathering skills.

Ada Cackle was still smiling, “Perhaps, before we devolve into threats and barbs, you could just listen—and then, once you’ve heard all we have to say, you can make your mind up from there.”

Romula’s blood boiled at the obvious patronizing in Ada’s tone, but she couldn’t argue with the woman’s logic. Instead, she merely fell silent, waiting.

“Now,” Ada snapped her fingers and a file appeared. On Monday, Algernon Rowan-Webb had approached her, offering up this rather thorough collection of information, which he’d gained from Oberon Alvaro in exchanged for some autographed special edition Esper Vespertilio records. Ada had wanted to laugh—perhaps the entire day would be saved by Miss Bat’s singing career, and there was something delightfully whimsical about the idea. She adjusted her glasses as she skimmed over the contents again, though honestly, she knew every word by heart now. “When we first learned of your involvement in the Great Wizard’s scheme, I assumed that you were operating out of some…misplaced sense of loyalty to your community, some tarnished idea of the greater good and necessary evil, all that usual drivel. However, Miss Hardbroom was fairly certain that you were not the type to devolve into zealotry.”

“You always were distinctly self-involved,” Hecate drawled, one brow arching in silent condemnation. Romula physically bit her tongue to keep from retorting. Until she knew exactly what was in that file, she had to play her cards very carefully.

“And I must say, my dear, you were right,” Ada glanced up at Hecate with a light smile. Hecate merely smirked in response. The blonde returned her attention to the file, “Because it seems that you were given quite the offer, in exchange for your…services.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Romula spat, before she could stop herself. “Don’t make it sound vile and tawdry.”

“And how else should it sound?” Hecate Hardbroom cocked her head in mock curiosity. “I, for one, find it particularly vile that you would attempt to sentence multiple witches to life-long punishments and throw our entire society back into fearful seclusion, just for the chance to own a rather paltry little academy.”

“Let’s not demean our longstanding and definitely _not_ paltry institution,” Ada suggested.

“Ada, I’m keenly aware of the pay scale, as well as how dependent this school is on grants and council-approved disbursements from the trust,” Hecate reminded her, though not unkindly. “When compared to the private academies and their astronomical tuition fees, one can unabashedly say that Cackle’s is not the cash cow.”

“But that wouldn’t be an issue for long, would it?” Ada turned her attention back to Romula, who felt a wave of shock at the intensity of those blue eyes, fixing her with such accusation and determination that she leaned back, slightly. “Because you had quite the scheme in mind for our school, didn’t you?”

“After it became _your_ school, of course,” Hecate added. Her upper lip rose into the smallest of disgusted snarls.

“You could charge tuition, once you became headmistress,” Ada pointed out. “You could build yourself a rather nice little legacy, for your family name—”

“Which hitherto has only graced a bunch of hut-dwelling poppy eaters,” Hecate’s opinion on Romula’s ancestors was quite clear, given her tone.

“Hecate, no need for quite so much vitriol,” Ada gently reminded her. The woman merely sniffed in response. Ada looked back at Romula, “Though it does explain why you were so eager to take this chance. You have nothing to lose, really. And you’ve already come so far—after all, it isn’t an easy feat, becoming a council member, particularly when you don’t have family connections, or wealth, or prestige behind you. I genuinely admire your tenacity, Miss Rinewater, even though it’s currently pointed at my own throat. Despite our current positions on opposite sides, you’ve proven that you very much can be bought, can’t you?”

Now Romula’s entire body stilled. She knew the beginnings of a proposition, when she heard one.

“My, Miss Cackle, I think we’ve gotten through,” Hecate drawled, thoroughly unimpressed.

Ada didn’t even glance in Hecate’s direction. She stayed focused on Romula, smiling benignly as she explained, “You won’t be walking away with the deed to Cackle’s, tonight. But that isn’t to say that you couldn’t have an equally compelling prize for your troubles.”

With a flutter of her fingers, Hecate Hardbroom called a piece of paper from the file, which drifted easily into her grasp. “The Great Wizard himself has a great many holdings, under the trusteeship of the Magic Council. The lands and homes of many old witching families who either died out or forfeited their holdings due to crimes they committed or out of sheer rejection of our world, in favor of the nonmagical one.”

“He would be most…_agreeable_, I think, given the circumstances,” Ada lifted her eyebrows meaningfully. This information had been yet another gift from Gwen Bat, who, upon learning of Romula’s true motivations for helping bring down Ada, had set off on a quest of her own to find out more ways to tempt the woman to their side.

“So…what?” Romula shifted slightly in her seat, wanting to make sure she understood their offer. “I turn to your side, help you bring down the Great Wizard himself, and you think he’ll just give me a nice little castle and some gold to go along with it?”

“My dear, I think you’ve misunderstood what we intend to do this evening,” Ada’s voice was absolutely saccharine. “We’re not bringing anyone down. We’re merely holding them accountable.”

“And you can ensure that happens in every sense of the word,” Hecate pointed out. The corner of her mouth hitched, briefly.

“So blackmail,” Romula clarified.

Ada looked shocked, but Romula suspected it was mainly feigned. The woman looked up at her deputy, “Well, no—I wouldn’t say that’s what we’re doing at all. Would you, Hecate?”

“_Self-defense_ seems more apt,” the younger woman provided.

“Yes, that sounds much more appropriate,” Ada agreed. “After all, we aren’t the ones trying to steal another witch’s rightful inheritance, are we?”

This time, she looked quite pointedly at Romula, whose throat tightened in response. That was a rather serious—and unfortunately, rather true—accusation, a direct violation of the Code itself.

“And of course,” Ada glanced down at the file with a slight look of unease. “There’s the fact that we’re only at the very beginning of what looks to be a long list of…incidents, on your part.”

“It…it wasn’t stealing,” Romula pointed out, eyeing the file in Ada’s lap. So far, they’d only gone through two pages, and there was still quite a bit more left in that file. “His Greatness promised—he was going to give it to me, afterwards. It would be included in the forfeiture, after—after Mildred Hubble’s grand display revealed that Miss Hardbroom had conspired to endanger the witching world—”

“What?” For the first time, Hecate Hardbroom looked genuinely shocked.

Romula Rinewater sensed an opportunity. She paused, looking carefully at the two women.

After a beat, she spoke, “I don’t give a fig about the purity of magical bloodlines or ensuring the fate of great witching houses. And why should I? What has it ever done for me?”

Hecate merely nodded. She’s suspected as much. As ever, Romula only looked through the lens of what a situation could give her, not what she could give to it. For once, Hecate was grateful for her selfish attitude.

“His Greatness knew that,” Romula admitted. “But he also knew that I would be the most determined, if given the right incentive. So he offered me the academy.”

“In exchange for what, exactly?” Ada’s voice was low, clipped with precision.

Romula sat back slightly, pulling her shoulders into a stronger stance and emulating a bravery that she certainly didn’t feel. “Give me your word that I’ll be rewarded for this, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Or we could just permanently turn you into a rabbit and set you loose in Hollow Wood,” Hecate countered, looking down at her nails in disinterest. “Please remember, Miss Rinewater, that we don’t need your cooperation to succeed in our endeavors.”

Romula looked back to Miss Cackle, expecting some kind of gentle rebuttal, some kind of assurance to the contrary.

Instead, the blonde merely watched her, waiting.

Perhaps Ada really was her mother’s daughter, despite all that Romula had heard to the contrary, despite all the warm smiles and gentle tones that Ada had used over the years. And Alma Cackle absolutely wouldn’t have hesitated to mete out such a fate.

“Fine,” Romula cracked. Some risks weren’t worth all the gold in the world.

* * *

Ada gave a heavy sigh as she entered her office. Hecate clipped in behind her, hands whipping out to perform the usual sweeping spells.

“Clear,” she informed her headmistress.

Ada merely nodded, collapsing into her armchair. Goodness, she’d just spent the better part of two hours seated in Hecate’s chambers, listening to Romula Rinewater, but somehow her legs still felt absolutely exhausted, as if she’d been climbing mountains all day.

Hecate set to making tea. Ada weakly held her hand up. “Leave it, dear. Just…breathe, for a moment.”

“As lovely as that sounds, we’ve less than three hours until the Great Wizard arrives, and every moment counts,” Hecate pointed out, still organizing and preparing the tea with snappy efficiency. She turned and presented a cup and saucer to Ada, who gratefully accepted. Then she made herself a cup and took a seat as well.

“I must admit,” Hecate spoke again, tone lined with drollery. “I have never been more delighted at having a student so thoroughly fail to retain all that I taught them about measuring adjustments.”

Ada chuckled softly in agreement. During their time questioning Romula, Hecate had asked a rather extensive set of queries about what exactly she’d done to their precious kittens (not that she called them that, not to Romula’s face). Romula had explained that Morgana’s fright the very first time, several weeks ago, must have been a half-memory from Romula plucking some strands of fur for a transformation potion—her dosage of forgetting powder on Morgana wasn’t correct. And subsequently, neither was her dosage of sleeping draught for the cat. Pendle, being a regular sized cat, adhered to the dosage recommended. But Morgana was smaller, and Romula genuinely hadn’t wanted to hurt her, so she’d halved the dosage (technically, Morgana was about half Pendle’s size, underneath her fluffy coat, so Ada understood the logic). Hecate had rolled her eyes, easily correcting the woman that, due to the fact that Morgana was still close to Pendle in age, despite her size, the dosage really shouldn’t have changed—at the very most, it should have only decreased by a quarter. Though this mistake did give Morgana longer twilight periods, where she could attempt to reach out to Hecate, her distant and groggy responses being what first alerted Hecate to trouble—so Hecate was rather forgiving of her former student’s ineptitude.

Ada had just been relieved to know that the cats weren’t truly harmed. Hecate still suggested they consider murder as an appropriate punishment. Morgana seemed to agree with her mistress.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Ada asked, taking a sip of her tea. She wasn’t referring to the situation with the familiars, and her wife knew it.

Hecate hummed. “Surprisingly, yes. If the Great Wizard does suspect at least some level of our connection to each other, it isn’t hard to fathom he’s understood that taking out one of us is as good as taking out both.”

Now it was Ada’s turn to hum in agreement. She’d had a thought similar to this, not too long ago—but it was still surprising, realizing her suspicions had been so close to the truth.

Romula had laid out the Great Wizard’s plan—to have Hecate Hardbroom set up as the originator of the scheme and prove herself a danger to witching society, while also proving Ada Cackle’s incompetence as an administrator, since she would have let this happen on her watch (publicly, where there could be no denying what had happened). There was the added bonus that the magical witching families would still look to the new girls from nonmagical families with suspicion and distrust (because after all, there was still the implication that Mildred Hubble, a girl from a nonmagical family, could still be more easily turned into a weapon against their society).

Once Miss Hardbroom was faced with life-long confinement (something she was technically already familiar with), it would be easy to get Miss Cackle to step down, to relinquish hereditary rights to the school, which would then be gifted to Romula Rinewater and her descendants.

Despotic, yes. Entirely unheard of in their almost feudal society? Not really. In fact, if the stories were to be believed, the Cackles had gotten their castle and all its holdings through very similar circumstances.

Romula didn’t say it, but Ada suspected that the Great Wizard had planned on buying Ada’s compliance with some sort of promise to reduce Hecate’s punishment. He’d still find a way to keep them effectively exiled, and all this nonsense over allowing people from nonmagical families back into their community would be over. Because Romula certainly would follow any edicts the Great Wizard put in place—she was in it for the money, not the morality, that much was plainly clear.

“What else was in that file?” Hecate asked, curious.

“Some expense reports that needed filing,” Ada answered honestly.

Hecate laughed, a sharp, quick thing of absolute surprise.

“Ada Cackle,” her voice was laced with shock and teasing, and her eyes were absolutely glittering. “You devious woman.”

“_All warfare is based on deception_.” Ada quoted.

Hecate’s eyebrows hitched in surprise. “Another lesson from Sun Tzu?”

Ada merely grinned in response.

“Certainly never a dull moment with you around,” Hecate drawled. She set down her tea cup with such unmistakable intent that Ada’s throat tightened in response, a flush immediately shooting through her chest like wildfire.

“Come here,” her wife said, quiet and commanding.

“Hecate,” Ada ached at the thought, and even though she was rising to her feet, moving closer, her voice was tinged with regret. “We don’t have time—”

“We don’t,” Hecate agreed. Still, her hands were on Ada’s hips, her forehead tilting to rest just below Ada’s ribs. “But good Goddess, I miss you.”

“Soon,” Ada promised, reaching down to stroke the top of Hecate’s head.

“Soon,” Hecate’s echo was muffled as she nuzzled further into Ada’s softness, the heat of her breath pushing through the fabric of Ada’s dress and warming her skin. Hecate gave a low, almost imperceptible growl of frustration, fingers flexing possessively into Ada’s hips and making Ada’s body ripple with delight.

“We still have to be very, very careful,” Ada reminded her. Still, even as she said it, her fingers were slipping further down, relishing the smooth skin at the nape of Hecate’s neck and enjoying the way her touch made the woman shiver in response.

Hecate looked up, face etched with an odd mixture of longing and frustration. “I’m tired of being careful, Ada. I’m tired of fear, and waiting for the other shoe to constantly drop. I’m tired of us having to answer to such petty people with their petty demands. I’m _tired_, Ada.”

“Me, too,” Ada confessed gently. “Which is exactly why we have to get everything just right, tonight.”

Hecate blinked, then nodded in agreement. Then she slowly rose to her feet, her body practically sliding up Ada’s as neither took a step back, simply relishing the feeling of being physically close again. Ada could feel the regret aching through Hecate’s hands as they relinquished their hold on her hips.

Ada let her own hand come out, to rest on Hecate’s hip, just for a moment, as she quietly confessed, “There is…something else.”

Hecate shifted, allowing herself to simply glance over Ada’s features in light confusion, though she didn’t actually move any further away.

“All the research into the other holdings under trusteeship, it…it made me think about the academy,” Ada kept direct eye contact, feeling a measure of absolute joy in simply being able to look into her wife’s eyes again without worrying about who might see the emotions swirling in their depths.

Hecate blinked, trying to override the sensations of her body so that her mind could think clearly. Since becoming deputy headmistress, she’d become extremely well-acquainted with how the academy was funded and run. As a tuition-free school, the money still had to come from somewhere—which was were the Magic Council’s trusteeship came in. It was this trusteeship that allowed them to question whatever decision the headmistress might make, giving them power over the academy’s fate. Without the annual disbursement from the trust, Cackle’s would not be able to continue functioning, even with its fundraisers and outside grants.

Ada took a half breath, lips pressing into a thin line. Hecate merely quirked her brows in silent askance. Finally, Ada spoke again, “What if…what if I told you that I might have a way to end that—the answering to petty people with their petty demands.”

Hecate’s eyes widened. Then their corners smiled, as she quietly replied, “Then I would have to say that my wife is quite the clever witch.”

Pushing her voice to barely a whisper, she leaned in, just a fraction more, so that her lips could ghost against Ada’s ear. “Show me what you’ve got, Miss Cackle.”

The implication of her words were not lost on the blonde, who simply shivered again. With a smirk, the deputy headmistress took a step back, grandly motioning towards the desk, following happily along behind her headmistress as Ada called forth her evidence and plans.

As Ada explained, Hecate felt a jolt of understanding. Her future self had hinted at this exact moment, she was sure of it. It seemed like a sign. A sign of the victory to come.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The extra fun stuff that I alluded to at the beginning of the previous chapter will also include a breakdown of Future Hecate's message to Ada, and how each section was fulfilled.

Julie Hubble took one last long, shaky breath as she looked up at the arching doorway of the academy, rubbing her sweaty palms over her tunic top for what must have been the dozenth time since she’d arrived. Her eyes fluttered closed, mind willing her daughter safe.

“Y’know, doors don’t work unless you actually use them.” A familiar voice drawled, making Julie’s face light up in response.

“Well met, Miss Drill,” she opened her eyes again, easily finding the flying instructor leaned against the corner of the building, watching her with a smile of her own.

“Well met, Miss Hubble,” Dimity actually performed the full greeting. By now, Julie knew that Dimity generally didn’t go through the trouble of proper form—but Julie was an exception, and somehow she knew it was because Dimity was trying to show her that she saw her as an equal, despite Julie’s lack of magic. It was…sweet. Kind. More meaningful to Julie than perhaps it should be. Dimity stepped forward, opening the door with a wave of her hand, “Shall we?”

“I suppose we don’t really have any other choice,” Julie admitted quietly, trying to hide her nerves behind a smile.

“Don’t worry,” Dimity gave her a quick wink. “We’re all gonna be just fine.”

Millie had assured her the same. Somehow, it was a little easier to believe, when Dimity slipped her arm around Julie’s shoulder in a half-hug, strong and sheltering.

“Look, HB might be a lot of things,” Dimity gently reminded her. “But she’s always gonna protect her girls. And that includes Millie and Indigo.”

Julie nodded in agreement, feeling much safer as she stepped into the foyer of the academy.

However, Dimity Drill did not feel safe. Because as soon as they entered, she spotted Hecate Hardbroom, across the room. The potion mistress’ eyebrows slowly drew upwards, the smirk evident on her face even at a distance.

For once, Dimity was relieved that all this hullaballoo with the Great Wizard was kicking off. At least it would keep the majority of HB’s attention firmly elsewhere.

* * *

Egbert Hellibore circled over the winding stone walls of the Cackle’s castle as he smiled down upon the few people already gathered out on the lawn. In the center of the green, he could see Romula Rinewater, looking up with a rather relieved expression. While he’d trusted her reports to be fairly accurate, he also knew the woman well enough to know that she’d never portray herself or her abilities in a less-than-flattering light. Not for the first time, he felt a ripple of concern for exactly how well this plan had been executed.

It didn’t matter, to a certain extent. He’d covered enough of his tracks to be able to shout down any lingering doubts about his own involvement, if it all went pear-shaped. That was one of the many perks to being the most powerful wizard in their society—it didn’t matter if people truly _believed_ you, so long as they couldn’t actually do anything to refute your claims.

“Miss Rinewater,” he gave a genial smile as he lowered his broom onto the green.

“Well met, Your Greatness,” she genuflected. Her shoulders were taut, an uneasy look in her eyes. He supposed he couldn’t blame her—there was a lot riding on this, and while Romula had entered this scheme with nothing to lose, she was now so deeply enmeshed that _nothing_ had become _everything_.

“Well met,” he returned, once his feet were on solid ground. He sent his broom to vanishment and sent a quick spell through his robes, pressing them back into pristine condition. “I trust everything is going smoothly.”

“Yes, Your Greatness. Quite smoothly.” She smiled, and it seemed a little odd, a little forced. Again, not entirely unexpected, given the situation.

“Your Greatness!” Ada Cackle’s joyful tone caused him to turn, towards the open door of the academy, where its current headmistress stood, arms open in a gesture of welcome. Just over her shoulder, Hecate Hardbroom loomed, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. Miss Cackle continued, obviously a bit flustered, “We weren’t expecting you quite so early in the evening.”

Both the headmistress and her deputy gave formal gestures of greeting, which Hellibore returned with a modified response of his own. He moved towards them with a smile. “Apologies for not alerting you to my arrival. But I am most anxious to spend as much time with our newest community members as possible.”

Ada could physically hear her wife’s teeth grinding in response. Because the Great Wizard had never done a fraction as much for Julie Hubble, or Mildred, and certainly not Indigo—he still had not even _met_ Indie yet. Not that Hecate opined the lack of attention. Still, she did so hate blatant lying. She took it as an insult to her intelligence, Ada knew—and Ada knew that her wife did _not_ take kindly to insults of any shape or form.

“Of course, Your Greatness,” Ada shifted to one side, motioning for him to enter. He breezed past, giving Ada and Hecate a chance to exchange glances.

Romula came up as well, offering one last wink before she followed.

“We have quite a spectacle planned—though granted, it was to be for your arrival,” Ada admitted with a light smile. Hecate marveled at her wife’s ease, at how not a single line in her body betrayed any sense of tension. Ada deftly shifted, coming to stand in front of Hellibore again, placing herself between him and the rest of the academy—a subtle move to reinforce the idea that he was here by her permission, and his access to her school and its inhabitants was still through her own good grace. Hecate ducked her head slightly, feeling another dash of pride for the skillful nonverbal communication—the Great Wizard would understand that despite his power and prestige, he was still a guest of Ada Cackle, who was still in charge of every inch of this academy and its grounds.

Ada’s smile never wavered, “Now, you’ll have to be a bit patient, as it is still parents’ night—we do have conferences and reports to give. But you’re more than welcome to wait in the Great Hall. Miss Tapioca has quite a lovely spread laid out, and you will have some time to mingle with the parents who aren’t currently in conferences.”

She turned her attention to Romula, “I’m sure Miss Rinewater would love to join you, and make proper introductions.”

Miss Rinewater nodded. Granted, it wasn’t that Hellibore was incapable of introducing himself—it’s just that as Great Wizard, etiquette demanded that he never _have_ to. He merely made a gesture indicating his approval, though honestly, he didn’t have much choice.

As he and Miss Rinewater disappeared down the hallway, Hecate shifted closer, keeping her gaze locked on them.

“Well done,” she breathed, her voice still lined with tension.

“Merely the first step in what promises to be a long journey,” Ada reminded her quietly. She felt the slight ripple of her skirt, the only indication that Hecate’s hand had brushed the side of her hip, desperate to comfort and reassure. She ducked her head and smiled. Then she turned to face her deputy fully, looking up with a cheerful expression, “Now. I believe we both have conferences to attend.”

Hecate gave a curt nod, hand lifting to transfer away. Ada stopped by the Great Hall, feeling a measure of reassurance in seeing Hellibore and Romula chatting away with the Nightshades while the Hallows sulked from across the room. Ah, yes, just a regular parents’ night at Cackle’s Academy.

* * *

Julie Hubble took another deep breath before entering the potions lab (gods above, she’d taken so many deep breaths at this point, she should be in absolute meditative nirvana). Miss Hardbroom flicked her hands, easily closing the door behind them in her usual theatrical fashion.

However, when she turned back to Julie, she was no longer the uptight and aloof Miss Hardbroom at all.

“Here,” she said softly, stepping forward and holding out her hands, which were cupped together to contain an amulet on a chain. “You should wear this. It’s imbued with a protective charm. I—I promised Mildred that I would take every precaution.”

Julie blinked in surprise, dipping her head to fully look at the amulet. It was masterfully wrought, she could tell just at a glance. And when she delicately picked it up, she could feel the magic rippling through it.

She used to couldn’t sense that—magic. Now, after having it, even for such a short time, her body was more highly attuned. Her skin tingled and ached as the chain settled around her neck, the amulet resting heavy against her chest as she hid it under her shirt.

“Thank you,” she replied, looking back up at the deputy head with slight confusion.

“You’re…welcome.” The words sounded stilted, unsure. As if perhaps the woman wasn’t used to saying them.

“And Millie? She’s going to be alright? And Indie, too?”

Miss Hardbroom nodded, as solemn as death herself. “I assure you, Miss Hubble, I am equally concerned for the girls’ safety. And I have done everything in my power—and will continue to do so, as long as I am living—to keep them out of harm.”

Julie merely nodded, knowing full well that the woman meant every word, with every fiber of her being. Despite her prickly exterior, Hecate Hardbroom had what Julie’s mum would have called a mother’s heart. A ferocity only love could produce, and an ironclad determination to endure anything, for the sake of those she loved. Yes, Millie was in the best of hands—a thought that still amused Julie somewhat, given her initial feelings about the woman standing in front of her.

Miss Hardbroom must have read her amusement easily enough, because she gave a wry smirk of her own as she drawled, “Unlikely allies, I know. But I suppose that’s just the wonders of life.”

She sounded only mildly sarcastic. Like perhaps she actually meant it—though they both knew she’d never dare to be so maudlin aloud.

“Well,” Julie offered a smile of her own. “I’d be much happier if life gave us a little less wonder, at least for a bit.”

Miss Hardbroom hummed in amusement. Then she dipped her head, turned on her heel, and actually began going over Mildred and Indigo’s progress for the term. Julie wanted to laugh—of course, even with all this intrigue and anxiety swirling around them, Hecate Hardbroom was still adhering to rules and protocol.

Some things never changed.

* * *

“Now, you’re sure you’re ready?” Ada asked yet again, tilting her head to fully meet Mildred’s gaze of the rims of her glasses. They were out on the green, girls milling around, preparing for the evening’s spectacle as the majority of parents and staff remained inside, either finishing up conferences or simply chatting in the Great Hall.

“I am, Miss Cackle,” Mildred nodded. She looked so young, so impossibly young. Ada’s heart ached.

However, she merely patted the young girl’s shoulder and nodded as well. She had faith in Mildred, faith in Hecate’s ability to teach her. With a sunnier air, she turned her attention to the gaggle of twittering first years, who were shifting around each other, nervously trying to prepare.

They were such tiny things, like little lost pixies. It always made her smile, getting to watch wide-eyed little witchlings slowly become more confident in themselves and their abilities, especially during their very first term.

She missed teaching, in moments like this. Actually being an active part of helping them learn and grow, at least in a classroom setting. Hecate used to tease her for being the most lenient teacher at the academy, with her smiles and her games and her pockets always filled with lemon drops. Hecate still teased her now, for being the most lenient headmistress in the school network (though sometimes, it was more frustration than teasing, they both could admit).

Despite missing the simpler times and moments, Ada still knew that she was where she was meant to be. She had to be here, to protect these girls. And being headmistress gave her that ability, in far greater capacity than her teaching position could.

And she would protect them, in any and every way that she could. She felt a surge of determination as the gaggle of first years all shifted towards her, ever-so-slightly, like baby ducks in search of a mother. She smiled and opened her arms, exclaiming her delight at their flowered headpieces, which they’d spent the week working on. They all smiled, more at-ease with their headmistress’ seal of approval. She handed out lemon drops to those who wanted them, and somehow “found” some caramels in her other pocket for the girls who preferred sweet over sour. Then she moved on, checking on the rest of the girls in their various groups, at turns reassuring and offering last minute pointers.

By the time she climbed the stairs of the podium to take her rightful place, her heart was lighter, and yet somehow heavier. There was no going back now—the course had been set, and now all they could do was barrel forward on a hope and a prayer.

A movement at the academy’s entrance caught her attention—the Great Wizard, trailed by Romula and Hecate. Even at a distance, the look Hecate winged her way was still loaded with worry. Ada merely tilted her forehead slightly, offering a small smile, _It’s all going to be fine, love_.

She saw Hecate blink, her throat twitching as she swallowed hard, then nod in agreement. She turned and hurried after the Great Wizard, lithe frame still ramrod with tension.

Ada’s hands clutched together in her lap, willing herself to believe her words as well.

* * *

The returning parents were delighted, albeit slightly surprised, at the idea of a spectacle. The new parents, particularly the nonmagical ones, were simply still trying to process everything. The Great Wizard himself opted to sit at the top of the stands, in the dead center, across from the staff podium, giving Ada a direct line of sight across the open space left for the spectacle. Once the stands were filled, the head girl—a fifth year named Ignatia Blaise—stood in the middle of the green, using a projecting spell to amplify her voice as she announced the program’s purpose: to show off the skills the girls had learned during their first four weeks in the term.

First came the first years, whose chanting made a wagon filled with bluebells and foxgloves chime and ring in harmony, blending well with their youthful pitches as Miss Bat directed them through the verses. Warm applause and warmer smiles from the parents followed.

The second years showed off their potions work, with a proud Miss Hardbroom nodding from the sidelines, hands clutched together and pressed against her chest as she willed her anxiety into a manageable shape, eyes wide with worry until every single potion had been exhibited and fully reversed. Ada couldn’t help but adore her wife in that moment, all that tender care and concern on such unmitigated display, though no one else—not even the second years themselves—noticed. How she loved how her wife loved.

The third years gave a demonstration with their familiars, and more than once, a wayward cat had the audience twittering in amusement. But the girls gamely pushed on, and in the end, they triumphed. Ada clapped especially loud for their feats (after all, getting a cat, familiar or not, to do anything is a miracle in and of itself).

The crowd gasped and cheered as the fourth years blazed overhead, the bristles of their brooms glittering with stardust potion that left trails behind them like comets. From the center of the green, Miss Drill commanded the maneuvers with a series of shrill hits from her silver whistle, each pattern signaling a different stunt. With the night sky behind them, the brooms and their riders looked absolutely ethereal.

While everyone else was busy looking to the skies, Ada kept her gaze on the Great Wizard, who was becoming more and more agitated by the minute. Then suddenly, he disappeared—only to reappear at the edge of stands, next to Hecate. He was leaning in, whispering something harshly in her ear. His hand snatched at her elbow, and the absolute desire for violence in that simple movement made Ada’s stomach lurch in fear.

She was on her feet before she could even register her own actions. She’d have his guts for garters if he touched her wife again.

Her movement caught Hecate’s eye, who flicked a quick glance her way, eyes wide and worried. Then, Hecate transferred herself and the Great Wizard away.

Ada slowly sank back into her seat, stomach clenching and twisting. She glanced back up at the stands, feeling a measure of relief to see that Romula was gone as well. Applause shattered her thoughts, and she looked up, realizing the fourth years had finished their display. She looked at Dimity Drill, who with a curt nod, transferred away.

Now she could feel more at ease. Dimity wouldn’t let anything happen to Hecate, that much she knew.

* * *

“What _are_ you playing at, Miss Hardbroom?” The Great Wizard was nearly shaking with barely-contained rage. Hecate had transferred them to one of the more abandoned corridors, determined not to ruin the girls’ performance with an entirely different sort of spectacle. This wasn’t the plan, everything was happening too fast, too soon—she could only hope that the others had been paying attention. Then she felt the light ripple of Dena Gimlett’s magic against her skin, reassuring and ready.

“Your Greatness, I—”

“I thought I had been quite clear in my expectations,” he leaned forward, and Hecate took a step back, hands lifting slightly as if to ward him off.

“You were, sir, I just—”

“Then why am I not seeing results?” He demanded. Goddess above, he was like a petulant child being denied sweets before dinner. Hecate balled her hands into fists, willing herself not to strike him.

“Your Greatness, I—I fear for everyone else, who might be in danger—”

“_Everyone else_ is not your concern.” He spat. “I gave you a direct order—”

“Except you haven’t, have you?” Hecate finally stood a little straighter, pushing more certainty into her voice.

There was a weighted beat as the Great Wizard simply look at her, wariness etched in every line of his features.

“You have _implied_ what needed to be done,” Hecate pointed out. “You have encouraged certain efforts. But you have not come out and plainly said what you wanted, or what you expected. And to be perfectly clear, Your Greatness, I shall not move forward without direct, absolute confirmation from the Great Wizard himself.”

It was a trap, yes, perhaps he could sense that. But he also understood the survival instinct behind it. Hecate willed her thoughts to show plainly on her face: _I am committed, sir, but if I go down, you’re going down with me._

Then the Great Wizard shifted back, just a fraction. With a slow nod, he spoke, “Fine. Hecate Hardbroom, I order you to push Mildred Hubble into causing a destructive show, to prove how unstable and untrustworthy the nonmagical people are. Make them see what danger Ada Cackle has brought to our doorstep, with her liberal admissions policy. That is your charge, and your only charge. I can take care of the rest.”

“Understood, Your Greatness,” Hecate dipped her head. Then, taking a step back, widening the gap between them, she rose to her full height. “But I shan’t.”

His entire body went stock-still, eyes widening slightly. His voice was a harsh whisper, “Reconsider, Hecate. I already have more than enough evidence against you—and _certainly_ more than enough power to ensure you’re brought to justice for what you’ve done.”

_Justice_. Hecate barely contained her desire to snort at such a laughable concept, coming from this man.

“Are you saying, sir, that if I don’t comply, you’ll prosecute me for a crime that I didn’t actually commit—that I never had any intention of committing?” She cocked her head to the side slightly, adding a haughtiness that she knew would goad him into a response.

“I’m saying that _I _have the power here, not you,” he stepped forward, rising to his full height. “And when I give an order, I expect it to be followed, to the fullest extent. Your disobedience is crime enough. And with a history like yours, who wouldn’t believe me?”

_A history like yours_. Once upon a time, those words would have filled Hecate Hardbroom with shame. Now, they gave her strength. Because from that history, she’d built something good, something to be proud of—a _self _to be proud of, finally.

She forced herself to smile, showing as much of her teeth as possible, all malice and spite. “Oh, I think quite a lot of people wouldn’t, actually.”

She slipped to one side, hand dramatically coming out in a long sweep, removing an invisibility spell to reveal Romula Rinewater, holding a strange device in her hand.

“You see, people often believe what they see, over what they hear,” Hecate gingerly took the device, tapping a few buttons and turning it to the Great Wizard. “And one must admit, those nonmagicals may not have pretty potions or shiny spells, but their cellphones are quite clever—and certainly more effective than a mirroring spell.”

He saw himself, looming over Hecate Hardbroom, who looked impossibly small and frightened as he began to threaten and rage.

“Not the best look, is it?” Hecate tutted gently. Then, with a blink, she melted into a wide-eyed, worried woman again, voice etched with tears as she spoke, “I was just trying to protect the children, you see. To protect our future. And you…you were willing to sacrifice them all, just to prove a point.”

With her last words, she slipped back into her true self, hard and flashing, jaw tight with anger. However, she forced herself to smirk as she added, “I may not be the best actress to grace the council halls, but I still think I’ll do just fine, in a hearing.”

The Great Wizard turned to Romula, as if still searching for some kind of support. “What is the meaning of this?”

Romula began to ripple, slowly shifting into Dena Gimlett. With a sweet smile, she helpfully supplied, “A bit of fair play, I think. After all, Miss Rinewater spent an awfully lot of time impersonating others.”

She winked at Hecate, who was smirking uncontrollably now. No, she'd never even considered actually having Romula around when the Great Wizard arrived. But Romula had given them enough details to help Gimlett better impersonate her, and trusting Romula to do that had been risk enough.

With a snap of his fingers, the Great Wizard called the cellphone into his grasp.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Another voice came from further down the hall. Hellibore turned to see Miss Drill, one arm propped nonchalantly against the stone wall. She held up yet another cellphone, shaking it slightly with her fingertips. “We’ve got plenty of backups, Your Greatness.”

He didn’t miss the blatant sarcasm in her tone, when using his title. With a growl, he turned back to Hecate Hardbroom, fighting back the urge to simply transfer away. Something in her expression warned him against any hasty moves. And right now, the truth was contained to the four people in this corridor. There was still a chance for victory.

So he asked the oldest question in politics, “What do you want?”

Miss Hardbroom’s smile made a shark’s look friendly.

* * *

The crowd of parents were oohing and ahhing as the fifth years’ tower of vines twisted and grew towards the sky, flowering out in beautiful, glowing blooms. It was such a shame that Miss Gimlett had to miss it, Ada thought.

Again, her mind turned back to Hecate. It had only been a matter of minutes, but every second felt like an eternity.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The plan was unraveling, here at the very end—Ada had thought the Great Wizard would be patient, at least a little while longer. Though Miss Tapioca had commented about the amount of wine he’d enjoyed while waiting in the Great Hall, it still seemed incomprehensible that he’d allow himself to be quite so impulsive. But nothing changed that fact that he had been, and Hecate had been dragged along with it.

Suddenly, she felt a pulse of magic against her skin—familiar magic, the most familiar magic in the world to her now.

_Hecate_. Reassuring and steady, sending warmth into her veins. Ada practically melted into her seat. Everything was alright. They’d been successful. With a sigh of relief, she blinked back tears, looking up at the growing vines with renewed delight.

Gwen and Algie transferred away. Dena Gimlett appeared, walking up onto the staff podium with a wide smile of delight at her students’ efforts.

“My, it’s lovely, isn’t it?” She breathed, taking a seat beside Ada.

“It is,” Ada agreed, mouth twinging from smiling so deeply. Quietly, she asked, “All’s well?”

“Beyond well,” Dena returned softly. “Miss Hardbroom has secured him in your office.”

“Is that where Algernon and Gwen went?”

Dena hummed in confirmation. “Miss Hardbroom wanted to be here, for the finale.”

* * *

Mildred Hubble’s hands were shaking. She closed her eyes, taking another deep breath as she gripped the handle of her broom, getting ready to take off.

She just had to billow onto the skies, and hope none of the parents decided to take a shot, once they realized what she was doing. Somehow, she hadn’t really considered all the factors of doing this in front of so many people. Yes, most of them would simply watch in slack-jawed shock, but all it would take was one deft witch or wizard with a quick hand and a decent aim, and she’d be taken out in a flash.

HB had promised to keep her wrapped up in a protective spell. Except HB wasn’t here—well, maybe she was, and Millie just couldn’t see her. Things had changed, slightly. Millie was expecting her to be waiting for her here, behind the broom shed, and so far, Miss Hardbroom hadn’t shown. And when Millie had looked from Miss Drill, she was missing, too. Her stomach tightened painfully at the thought.

She glanced around the edge of the building. The fifth years’ vine tower was almost complete.

Time to move. She’d promised Miss Hardbroom that she’d do this, and regardless of what had happened to the others, she’d still do her part.

She mounted her broom, taking one last breath to steady her jangling nerves.

“Mildred Hubble!” Never in Millie’s life had she been so delighted and relieved to hear that anxious almost-shriek. She turned to see HB, expressive hand flexed out toward her, as if she were about to physically pull Millie back to her.

Millie lowered her broom back to the ground. HB’s shoulders went slack, her face slipping into a softer expression.

“It’s over, Mildred,” she said, the relief palpable in every syllable. “It’s over. You don’t have to—you’re safe now.”

Mildred couldn’t help herself. She launched at HB, wrapping the woman in a hug. She felt HB’s body stiffen, but she didn’t pull away, so Millie took it as a good sign.

Then, the most surprising thing happened. Mildred felt Miss Hardbroom’s arm around her shoulders, her other hand atop Mildred’s head, holding her, embracing her back.

“How’d you do it?” Mildred finally stepped back, looking up to Miss Hardbroom with wide eyes. “I thought—”

“I did, too,” HB admitted. “But the Great Wizard simply wasn’t patient enough. A rather fortunate flaw, for us. But we were still prepared, and we’ve gotten the proof we need.”

“I’m glad,” Mildred breathed. “I was…well, I didn’t see you, and I thought—I don’t know how to make a protection spell like that, and with all the parents—”

“I know,” HB assured her, still the gentlest Mildred had ever seen her. Her eyes were glistening, as if she might cry. With a small smile, she repeated, “But it’s over. And you’re safe.”

“Does Miss Cackle know?”

The mention of the headmistress made Miss Hardbroom’s entire body ripple. She gave a slight nod, “Miss Gimlett is telling her now. And Miss Drill is doing the same with your mother.”

Millie felt a measure of relief at knowing her mum could relax now, too. Still, she couldn’t help but admit, “It’s a bit of a shame, all the work we put into this—and now no one’s gonna see it.”

Miss Hardbroom’s dark eyes flicked up, to the vine tower in the distance. “Well…perhaps…there is a solution.”

* * *

Ada had risen to her feet, walking under the arch of the vine tower as she held out her hands, motioning to all the girls, who stood at the sidelines. The parents were still applauding, all quite proud of their children’s efforts.

“We thank you so much for coming tonight,” Ada used an amplification spell, allowing a beat for her words to ripple over the audience. “As you can see, your daughters are quite adept young ladies. It has been our pleasure to teach them, over the past four weeks, and we look forward to more—”

A sudden shift at the edge of the stands caught her attention. Hecate, and Mildred. Her wife made a little hand gesture, a sign of seeking permission. Ada continued on, giving a slight nod of acquiescence, “We look forward to more opportunities to not only teach your daughters, but to learn from them. Now, I believe we have one last display, from our very first student from a nonmagical family, Miss Mildred Hubble.”

Ada stepped forward, extending her arm to Mildred, who walked out to a rather small ripple of applause. Hecate lightly beckoned Ada to her side, already walking forward to meet her halfway. They stopped just a few feet behind Mildred, coming to stand side by side, like always.

“It seemed a shame to waste all of Mildred’s hard work,” Hecate informed her, echoing Mildred’s earlier sentiments.

“I agree,” Ada nodded with a smile.

Mildred Hubble extended her arm, keeping it perfectly straight as her wrist moved in the correct pattern. The vines rattled and shook and then suddenly—a soft explosion. The crowd gasped as every leaf shot off, leaving the vines bare and twisted as leaves and blossoms floated in a slow swirl around the tower. The mass of shifting flora pushed outwards, like an expanding thunderhead, the glowing blooms bobbing almost eerily in the darkness.

Then, with another turn of her wrist, Mildred snapped everything back into place, not a single leaf out of order.

The crowd rippled with applause and a few sharp whistles of delight (Dimity Drill, no doubt about it in Hecate’s mind), growing in volume as Mildred turned and smiled, giving a bow. Then she stepped back, motioning for the rest of the students to join her on the green. The girls lined up in their usual presentation rows, giving bows as their parents cheered.

Hecate’s heart fluttered as Ada’s hand gently slipping into hers, fingers interlacing as she pressed their palms together. She could feel the satisfaction humming from her wife’s small frame, _We’ve done it, love._

Hecate’s hand squeezed back, proud and grateful and relieved and overflowing with love. _Yes, yes, we have._

* * *

To say His Greatness was displeased might have been an understatement. He was like a bear with his paw caught in a trap, though slightly more tractable. But only slightly.

The parents were all gone, the girls were on their way to bed, and Hecate and Ada were finally back in the headmistress’ office, ready to deal with the final piece in their grand puzzle.

“I knew you’d do something like this,” the Great Wizard informed Hecate, who was rather unimpressed with his anger.

“And yet you enlisted my help anyways.” She arched her brow. “Not the wisest choice, might I point out.”

“Now, now,” Ada’s voice was light, almost patronizing. “Perhaps we can lift this binding spell, and have a calm discussion, like adults.”

Hecate merely stared back at him, awaiting his answer.

“I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?” He looked back at Ada. Granted, he’d agreed to the binding spell, though perhaps _agree_ implied more free will than Hecate had truly given him when she’d transferred him here, after their incriminating little tête-à-tête in the corridor.

Miss Cackle smiled, as sweetly as ever. “You _do_ have choices, Your Greatness. Though I will admit, very few have positive consequences.”

He sighed, making a gesture of acquiescence, both for her point and her request. With a sharp whip of her wrist, Hecate Hardbroom removed the binding spell. It had taken her, Dimity, and Gimlett combined to cast it, but removing the spell was a far less taxing action.

“Now,” Ada settled into her seat behind her desk. Another subtle power move, keeping the Great Wizard seated across the desk, in the space reserved for visitors, for those of lesser authority in her domain. Hecate easily slipped into place over her left shoulder, feeling another spike of triumph as things clicked back into the way they should be. “Obviously, we do have some rather incriminating evidence. I don’t think anyone would take kindly to the fact that the Great Wizard himself was willing to put such a large portion of the population—such a large portion of our society's _future_—at such risk.”

“What do you want?” The Great Wizard repeated again, his gaze flickering between the two women. “Do you want me to resign, is that it?”

“Oh, goodness, no, nothing as dramatic as that,” Miss Cackle assured him with a quick shake of her head. She seemed almost amused that he would even suggest such a thing.

“One is reminded of proverbs citing the virtues of known devils over those of unknown ones,” Miss Hardbroom drawled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What, then?” It took every ounce of self-control for Hellibore not to grind the words between his teeth.

“We want peace, Your Greatness,” Ada Cackle informed him softly. “We want to be left in peace.”

“As you can see, your fears over the dangers of nonmagical people is completely unfounded,” Miss Hardbroom pointed out. With a disinterested air, she added, “In fact, one could go so far as to posit that magical beings pose a far greater threat to themselves than any outside forces.”

A barb aimed at him, he knew.

“It’s time to remove Miss Rinewater from her posting here at Cackle’s,” Ada announced. With a meaningful look, she added, “She has already relinquished her hopes of receiving this academy as payment for services rendered.”

“Rather fair, seeing as she didn’t actually render the agreed upon service,” Hecate sniffed. “Though one does feel that she ought to be compensated in some way for all her hard work.”

“Where is she?” Hellibore asked.

“Safe.” Ada informed him.

“For now.” Hecate added with an arch of her brow.

He stared at them, considering for a moment. Then, he spoke again, “You still haven’t really said what you want. Surely you aren’t going to settle for having the council remove its scrutiny over your admissions process.”

“Heavens, no,” Ada smiled sweetly again. “We’re fair, not foolish.”

With a flourish, Hecate magically produced a piece of paper, which she handed to her headmistress. Ada lightly slid it across the desk to the Great Wizard. A twirl of her fingers produced a silver-tipped quill with a matching inkpot.

“As you well know, Cackle’s was founded on a trusteeship,” Ada kept her voice gentle, almost patronizing, as if explaining something to a small child. “And you’re equally aware that, even though currency values have shifted, the amount disbursed from that trust has remained the same…for almost a hundred years.”

A carry-over from the previous Great Wizard. A shrewd financial move, as the council was given the right to use a certain amount of the interest as funding for other projects—and if the balance was higher, so was the amount of annual interest. By keeping the disbursement the same, it allowed the overall balance to accrue, giving the council more funds as well.

“So you’d like a larger disbursement,” Hellibore connected the dots.

However, Ada’s smile informed him that he hadn’t quite.

“We’d like full command of the trust,” she kept her voice perfectly balanced. “When it was originally created, the Cackle family was in charge of the funds themselves.”

Of course, he knew this. They all did. It wasn’t until the instability and witch-hunting mania of the 17th century that the Cackles had decided it was more prudent to transfer trusteeship to the council itself, ensuring that if anything happened to their family line, the money could still be used to protect and continue the education of witches for generations to come.

But it wasn’t just asking for trusteeship back, Hellibore knew. If the Magic Council relinquished its grip on the purse strings, then Cackle’s Academy would not be bound to their whims, no longer in need of their disbursements or their blessing.

And the council would lose a pretty penny, at the end of the day.

“I’m not sure I can manage that,” he admitted.

“Oh, have a bit of faith,” Hecate Hardbroom drawled, her tone dripping with patronizing sarcasm. “You’re the Great Wizard, after all. You can do anything you want, remember?”

She was riffing off the demanding speech he’d given her, when he’d thought they were alone in the corridor. He merely glared at her, wishing he could wipe the smug smirk off her face.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to be free of these infernal women. At least in some small way. Yes, the academy would still have to fulfill educational requirements, but the amount of interaction between the academy and the council would decrease significantly.

Ada Cackle must have sensed his thoughts, because she quietly reminded him, “It’s better than the alternative, Your Greatness.”

She tilted her head, every so subtly. If one were to follow a direct line, it would connect to the photograph of her sister and Miss Gullet, permanently trapped for their own crimes against witching society.

He hated how right she was. With a heavy sigh, he took up the quill that Miss Cackle had so graciously provided.

Hecate Hardbroom had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from outright grinning. The Great Wizard would have to make excuses to the rest of the council, and surely there would be some doubts and raised eyebrows, but it didn't matter. Ada's family was back in full possession of their trust, and Ada was practically ironclad against any further attempts to remove her, as the only ones who could vote on her resignation (barring any illegal acts, of course) would be the other Cackles who would be appointed to the trusteeship.

They were safe, in a way they'd never been before.

* * *

In the end, Romula Rinewater didn’t get a nice little castle in the countryside. But her brother was given a coveted position in the European Council for Craft, and her niece was admitted to a top witching university, despite rather abysmal testing scores, with all her expenses paid and a nice new wing of the university bearing a plaque thanking the Rinewater Family for their generous donations. No one ever knew that the funds hadn’t come from Romula at all—though she’d told herself that she’d earned the right to every ounce of that money, after spending a rather unfortunate evening as a cat, while another witch paraded around pretending to be her.

She and the Great Wizard left in the dark of the night, with very little fanfare.

In fact, no one else was there to see them off, except Headmistress Cackle and her deputy, who simply watched from the front steps of the academy. And once they disappeared into the darkness of the night sky, the academy’s protective spells rose up, effectively blocking anyone else from entering.

Hecate had only barely begun to turn to her wife—before she could even offer a word of congratulations, Ada’s right arm was around her waist, left hand slipping around the back of Hecate’s neck to pull her down into a bone-melting kiss. Hecate couldn’t stop the sigh of delighted relief from slipping out of her lungs.

Still, when she pulled away, practically gasping for air, she teased, “Miss Cackle, we’re still out in the open.”

“I know,” her wife beamed up at her. Her blue eyes were dancing, blushing cheeks still highly visible in the shadows. Her left hand lightly traced the outline of Hecate’s face. “And we can stay that way, now.”

Hecate’s brows knit together, slightly confused.

“Hecate,” Ada gently explained. “It doesn’t matter if the council thinks a married couple would be unsuited to run the school together—not anymore, not when we’re the ones controlling the trust.”

Her wife blinked rapidly as she processed this. Ada quietly added, “And...and I think it's time we retire the old song and dance that paints us as reluctant colleagues, ready to turn on each other at the slightest chance. We don’t—there’s no need to do a whole, big, formal announcement, we don’t have to be public about it…but we don’t have to be secretive, either. We can just…be.”

Hecate’s eyes were shining, glittering like stars in the darkness. With a low murmur, she confessed, “I like the sound of that. Very much.”

She gave the idea a formal seal of approval, her lips melding back to Ada’s with warm delight.


	13. Chapter 13

“How tired are you?”

Ada pulled back, confused by such a question. Given the fact that she currently had Hecate pinned against the door of their bedroom, her energy levels shouldn’t really be in question.

Hecate’s face was lined with something sly. Ada felt a ripple of anticipation.

“Well, I don’t have any plans to sleep anytime soon, if that’s what you mean.”

Hecate smirked at the thought. After seeing Romula and the Great Wizard off, they’d had a celebratory tea in Ada’s office, discussing and dissecting everything that had happened. There was an air of luxuriousness to it all, slowly drawing out the evening as they enjoyed finally having the freedom to look at each other, without any hiding or hesitation. For the first time in weeks, Hecate actually relished the tension slipping through her body, delighted that _finally_, it could be acted upon again.

And Ada’s heart had soared, being reminded that while their longing did have a keen physical edge at times, more than anything, the greatest thing they’d each missed was simply having the other in their life. The cats had joined them, completing Ada’s sense of finally being home again with her little family (though eventually the two little imps had taken off into the night, skittering and tumbling and obviously eager to get back to their usual shenanigans of mischief and mayhem).

Hecate had insisted on choosing the tea—and Ada hadn’t missed the unspoken intent when she’d chosen the blackest blend they had, with the highest amount of caffeine. If anything, she’d pushed herself to drink a second cup, delighting at the jittery feeling rising in her veins, knowing full well that she’d find plenty of ways to wear it down before she finally tumbled into sleep. She'd sat in Hecate's lap, body rippling every time her wife's free hand stroked down her side, light and teasing as she traced little whorls on Ada's hip, delighted to simply touch again.

They always unpacked, mentally, after an event like this. But somehow, it was different. More joyful. More free. Ada liked the change. Oftentimes, Hecate would cry after, would cry while making grateful love to Ada, but somehow, she suspected that wouldn’t be the case tonight—and she welcomed it, with open arms.

“Good,” Hecate slipped out of her grasp, clipping further into the room. With a snap of her fingers, she changed into one of her summer nightdresses, still long but light and soft, her hair finally loose from its usual bun. She waited, obviously expecting Ada to do the same.

Ada would have much rather preferred no clothes at all, but it was evident that Hecate had some sort of plan brewing in that beautiful head of hers, so she complied, changing as well.

“Would you like to see what I’ve been working on, in the greenhouse?” Hecate asked, stepping forward. This time, she made no sound, her heeled boots now gone. She was closer to Ada in height now, neck and collarbones so much more accessible.

Again, Ada’s interests were certainly more carnal than floral at the moment, but she nodded anyways, letting Hecate whisk them away to the greenhouse.

It was the same one they’d been in, the last time they’d been together. Ada glanced at the potting table with a smile. Still, she teased, “Honestly, my dear, I’m planning on something a bit more…_involved_ than a quickie in the garden shed.”

Hecate merely grinned in response, all wicked lips and shining eyes.

“Ada Cackle,” she teased. “You act as if I don’t know you at all.”

The promise in her tone made Ada shiver.

Hecate stepped closer again, and Ada could see the way her body shook, barely perceptible, as it thrummed with restless longing. Still, she restrained herself, letting her hands barely ghost over Ada’s shoulders, almost as if brushing away imaginary bits of dust.

“You remember, I told you that I’d become more involved with gardening.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ada nodded anyways.

“I just…” Hecate breathed again, smiling almost bashfully at her wife. “I need you to understand that every time I wanted…I missed you, or couldn’t sleep because you weren’t beside me, or found myself going crazy with worry for you, I…I came here. And I worked on this.”

Ada blinked back tears, nodding again. Then, with a flourish, Hecate stepped back, waving her hand to reveal a shimmering, rippling veil, just the like one hiding Gwen’s parallel space.

“Oh, Hecate,” Ada breathed, understanding instantly. “Did you really?”

Her wife merely nodded, beaming as she took in Ada’s reaction. The woman hadn’t even seen it yet, and she was already amazed. Hecate gestured for Ada to step forward, lightly placing her hand over Ada’s eyes, leaning in to whisper against her ear, “Surprise, love.”

She kept her free arm wrapped around Ada’s midsection, gently guiding her forward. Ada kept her eyes closed, fully trusting her wife’s lead. She felt the heat of Hecate’s hand, hovering just over her skin—and felt the slight coolness when it moved away.

“Open your eyes,” Hecate murmured, placing the lightest of kisses on the shell of Ada’s ear.

Ada couldn’t help but gasp the sight before her. The garden was as nearly as large at the Great Hall, but it wasn’t anything like the gardens surrounding the castle. It was mainly aquatic plants, the soft, gently rippling sounds of falling water coming from the series of fountains that fed into a small pond, which shimmered beneath the moonlight. The nearest bank of the pond was covered in silver mound artemisia, the softest plant to the touch that Hecate had ever found. Ada stepped forward, looking up at the lithe young willow tree rising into the night, already bowing to brush its tendrils against the water, creating rings that rippled out and overlapped like a sacred geometric pattern. At the edges of the garden, crumbling stone arches rose, marking the end of parallel space. Sweet flag grass and irises swayed at the opposite bank of the pond, large grey stones from a fallen pillar spilling into the water and sprouting clusters of creeping jenny vines, their blossoms glowing golden in the dim moonlight. At one corner, white and purple lilies floated, also glowing magically. A movement caught her eye, and Ada realized there were fish in the water as well. Fireflies zipped and danced through the willow branches, darting across the water like shots of gold.

Hecate was behind her again, hand lightly resting on the small of Ada’s back as she gently waited for Ada to take it all in.

Ada thought back to that afternoon in Hecate’s classroom, when her wife had quietly confessed that she’d taken up gardening to help pass the time of Ada’s absence.

_It’s nice. Just you and your thoughts, busy building things that will later bloom into something quite beautiful._

Ada understood this gift for what it truly was—a love letter, crafted in absolute detail, a physical encapsulation of all the longing and love that Hecate held.

“This is…” Words failed her. She shook her head, fighting past the tightness in her throat as she whispered, “Beyond…everything.”

“It isn’t quite finished,” Hecate admitted quietly.

“How?” Ada was completely perplexed. “Hecate, it’s perfect.”

Her wife grinned in pure delight, shifting to stand directly in front of Ada as she took her hands, thumbs lightly rubbing over Ada’s knuckles with soft adoration.

“I put your magic in here, too,” she spoke quietly. “So that you could make adjustments as well.”

“Oh, my love, I couldn’t—I couldn’t imagine anything else this could possibly need.” Ada was being absolutely honest.

Hecate’s eyes were shining as she glanced back up, lifting her eyebrows in a lightly curious air as she asked, “Not even…a time spell?”

Ada’s sudden look of understanding made Hecate flush in response.

“Well, perhaps that is the _only_ adjustment that needs to be made,” her wife conceded. Her body tightened at the thought—a secret place only she and Hecate could go, a place where time stopped, or at least slowed, where they could rest and regroup and spend as much time as they needed, lost in each other.

“You can add it later,” Hecate leaned in, capturing Ada’s mouth in a quick kiss. She kept their noses touching as she softly added, “For now, let’s just enjoy the time we do have.”

The sound of music filtered on the breeze—Ada immediately recognized it as the song she’d played for Hecate, their first night in the Outer Hebrides, when she’d held her and helped her find who she truly was. This was part of Hecate’s love letter, too—a thank you to Ada, a gentle assurance that she remembered and appreciated everything Ada had done for her.

Hecate was slipping her arms around Ada, pulling her closer and into a slow, steady pace as they danced further into the garden, Ada’s bare feet delighting at the velvety softness of the artemisia. Hecate kept her lips firmly planted against Ada’s forehead, and Ada knew that this was the moment when Hecate would usually cry, grateful and relieved that they’d both survived, yet again.

However, when Ada looked up to comfort her, Hecate was beaming, an almost mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

Her grip around Ada’s waist tightened and she whirled them both into a spin, sending them tumbling to the ground, laughing and breathless. Ada still held on tight, head spinning and heart surging with delight at the sense of abandon, the absolute freedom of the moment. She felt young again, reckless and happy and completely untethered.

Hecate shifted, pushing herself up on one arm to look down at Ada, hair cascading over her shoulder, shielding Ada further from the rest of the world. Her other hand rested lightly on Ada’s hip as she simply looked down at her wife, the love and adoration visible in every line of her body as her smile shone through the darkness.

_Joy_. Ada thought. That was the only way to describe her.

In every sense of the word, in every fiber of her being, she was joy. Absolute, unending, unbreakable joy.

_ **~Le Fin.** _


End file.
